Household Gods
by Anger House
Summary: AU Shounenai Ichigo gets smushed under a vending machine But instead of peacefully passing over, he's forced to stay in the living world and become a Shinigami, his Senpai and teacher of the trade is none other than the most inept loafer in the biz, Renji
1. Chapter 1

_This fic contains OFFENSIVE material. I warned you. _

**HOUSEHOLD GODS **

**1. Wait With You**

He stands staring. His head, tilted; long bunches of red hair are gathered into an elastic tie. It leaned lopsided on the top of his head. He stood looking onto the small woman in front of him, who was chewing on dinner. Only a few moments ago, he'd watched a small boy douse her dinner with a tall, green can of Raid.

She was chewing, chewing more and eating. Swallowing, then forking up more and chewing. The man looked at his watch, just a minute and fifteen seconds to go. He leaned against the wall, watching; waiting. Spit starts to spill from her twisting lips. Her watering eyes widen and her throat pulses. She starts to gag and her mouth fills with vomit. She pushes her chin up, opening her mouth like a snagged fish. The drool and bile leak down her face. She takes in a waft of air, struggling to breathe and sucking the puke into her lungs. The acid stings and scorches. Ah, what a shame!

She jumps up from the table and grabs at her burning throat. Her purple lips pucker and gurgling noises fill the air as if she were a snorting pig. Under her nails are the blood and flesh of her torn neck. How desperate for air she must be to try and tear through her own skin!

Her eyes edge out of their sockets, glassy with their juice. Her body sways over her shaking legs and she stumbles around. He steps out of her way, letting her wander frantically into the kitchen. She huffs and gurgles like a draining sink. Forty-one seconds. She paws around the counters, her palms slapping against them wildly. She burbles loudly, but surely she must know she remains unheard!

Yet she clings onto life as she grips onto the coiling cord of the phone. Her hand smacks against the buttons. Assortments of numbers are pressed. Ah, he could help her out a bit, couldn't he?

From behind her, he reaches and pushes down the three emergency numbers, 911. Only twenty seconds. He looks back onto her now crumpling form. She hugs the tiles of the kitchen floor, snorting and wheezing. Her tongue pokes out from her puffy lips and fluid pools around her mouth. His face scrunches away from the unpleasantness. That's just not pretty. Nine seconds.

Her fists begin to unfurl like blooming flowers, slow and reluctant. Her eyes narrow from their popped out state, relaxing into a surprised expression. Her swelled tongue presses against the ceramic floor and sticks to the pooling mucus. He glances at his watch; four seconds. Her flared nostrils retract and her brows drop from her forehead. Her spine hangs and her shoulders ease. One second.

She stands next to the redheaded man and looks onto her own corpse. She tilts her head, "That little shit," she says. "He poisoned my food, didn't he?" She shakes her head, her blond hair swaying. "I met you today at the bank," her eyes jump around her kitchen as she fits the pieces together. "You knew this was going to happen?"

"More or less," he says.

"So I'm dead?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

She sighs in exaggeration. Her eyes shift onto the redhead, who seems to have just _appeared_. She breathes heavily again.

"You ready?" he asks.

"Sure," she says flatly. "What's next?"

"We have a soul funeral." Late sirens scream in their approach. He extends an arm, "After you," he says. The blond ghost steps in front. He reaches a long limb behind himself, grasping a leather bag from the kitchen counter.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Yeah," he says, shuffling through the bag and taking a slim, black wallet. She turns and his hands are minding themselves in his pockets. "Well," he smiles, "shall we go then?"

Traffic is heavy. Metal monsters are soaring by and he walks alone. His eerie companion, now _passed on,_ left nothing but the lingering and stinging sensation of insect poison in his eyes.

His mouth stretches into a yawn and he steps onto the crammed street. It's so packed that no cars can inch ahead. They all wait and wait. He makes his way swiftly through the traffic, earning honks and shouts. Asshole this. Moron that. His red hair flies in the wind. His eyes ache, so he shuts them for only a moment. Someone shouts from in front of him. Saying, "Hey! Watch-!"

And he doesn't hear the rest. All he hears is a _smack_, as his body is flattened against a turning bus. He hears the cracking of his bones; the snap of his femur as his thigh disappears under the bus. Around him is all this hot, sticky blood. It's thick and dark and just pooling onto the street. He sees the splatter of his gore on the front of the bus. Shouts, ringing and just fucking nonsense enter his ears, filling his pounding head. He groans. How annoying!

People rush around him, pushing and shouting and dialing. They scream for help. They ask if he's all right; can he feel his legs? Can he see?

He shakes out his squashed leg. It's a damn bloody mess. He can't believe that a fucking bus hit him. He rubs his hand into his bloody skull. He has a massive headache. He stands on his broken leg and wobbles onto the sidewalk. People shout louder and he says, "I'm fine! I'm fine!"

In his thigh he feels a deep pulsing, like a soft current of electricity. The pieces of his shattered bones feel charged and tetchy, like magnets. He feels the fractions pull together, pushing through his soupy flesh, connecting and snapping together again. He winces as the bones pinch into him. His torn muscles stretch toward each other, the ligaments stitching back into themselves. He pushes a man away from him, "I'm fine!" He says, "This happens all the time." And the man backs off.

He starts walking down the sidewalk and the crowd disperses, chattering and re-watching clips of the incident on their videophones. He stretches out his shoulder. It's a bit stiff but completely functional.

"Hey, wait!" The voice is calling from behind him. He turns and faces a young man, whose hand is extending towards him. "Hey!" the guy calls again. He's short and Japanese, with cropped, orange hair. He guesses that boy must be bleaching it. The cropped spikes bend softly in the breeze as the boy approaches. "You can't be alright," he says. "Please, my family runs a clinic just a block from here." His face molds with concern. "Just let us have a look. Seriously, you were _hit by bus _just now."

The man scratches the new skin grown on his scalp. "Nah," he says. "I'm pretty sure I'm fine." He feels a tug on his battered t-shirt.

"You're not fine. I don't even know how you're walking," the boy says. "Please come with me."

The clinic is small and clean. Narrow cots are pushed into corners, divided by drawn, plastic curtains. The air smells of sanitizer. The young, Japanese boy strides around the room. "My Dad should be here any minute. He'll be the one to check you out," he says.

"He's a doctor?" the man asks.

"Yeah, but he's not like, an _intense_ one or anything."

"Ah," he runs a hand into his red hair, "So what's your name, kid?"

"Ichigo. And I'm not a kid."

"Alright, alright. Ichigo, then, are _you_ a doctor?"

"Of course not. I'm fifteen!" The boy hid a scowl. "Um, are you… in pain or anything? I can hook you up with some pain killers…"

"Not necessary. Say… I don't suppose you've got morphine laying around here, eh?"

"We're a local clinic."

"Too bad."

"And who's _this_?" The deep voice rumbled with maturity. In the doorway stood a tall, dark haired man in a white coat.

"Dad," Ichigo says. "This is the guy I mentioned on the phone. He collided with a bus- it was unreal."

"Hit by a bus?" his father repeats.

"It was just a nudge, really," the man suggests.

"We might need to do some x-rays," the father mumbles.

"No! No, that's really going too far. I'm good."

"Sorry, what did you say your name was?" Ichigo's father asks.

"Um," he says. "Abarai Renji, but-"

"Ichigo! Could you ask Yuzu to fetch a mop? Abarai-san is just bleeding everywhere…" Ichigo leaves. "Alright, Abarai-san. Shirt off and let's have a look at you."

…

He walks down the street, his red hair flying. He's alone with his hands tucked into his pockets. He heads back to his flat. The flat he's begun to occupy after its previous owner fell victim to a horrible freak accident. He figured he could remain there for at least a few more weeks. That is, until it's rented out to another living being.

Ichigo enters the small, white room with a mop. He couldn't find his sister. The room is empty except for his Dad, who eagerly accepts the damp cleaning tool. "Where's…?" Ichigo's voice trails as he glances around once more.

"Oh? Abarai-san? I let him leave. He was pretty bruised up, but other than that- he was perfectly okay."

"That's impossible," the boy says.

The flat is empty and dusty. A rusted fan creates a warm current in the air and blows around a moldy scent. Its rotating blades knock against the cage, causing the entire mechanism to quiver. He throws his tattered coat to the floor and launches himself in the sour sheets of the bed. A small insect creeps on the pillow, its small, feathery legs sticking to the fabric. He blows it away with his breath. He looks over to the nightstand, his alarm clock blinks. Red numbers spell out 14:02. It's time to check his schedule.

He flips open a thin cell phone from his pant pocket. One new text message- oh, only one? He would have an easy day tomorrow. The machine beeps as he presses the buttons and opens the message. The black letters glare against the white. It reads: _187 Main Street. 17:15:43. _

He would sleep in late that morning.

…

A tiny woman pads around the flat. Her bare feet stick to the cool floor, gently thudding as she paces. She turns and notices Renji, sitting up in bed and glaring at her. "What?" she says.

He growls. "Rukia."

"What?!"

"Stop with the B and E. Knock."

She dismisses his words. "My brother misses you, you know? Why don't you come visit? He's even given you light duty and everything. It's the perfect time."

"Forget it. I don't want to see that bastard," he falls back onto the bedding.

"Renji!"

His arm raises and turns towards her. "Don't be so stupid to think that a slow day has anything to do with favoritism. There's no way Captain is in _any_ way- _even in the least bit -_sentimental."

"That's not true," she pouts. "He might really like you… I think."

He lifts a brow, "So what're you _really_ doing here, Ruk?"

"Someone's gonna kick the bucket at a wedding this afternoon. I need a short-notice date." Her tiny hand gestures to the right. Next to him, a wrapped suit is laid on a chair. "Change into it." His face scrunches. "Renji, don't you want to see all those sexy bride's mates? You really don't want to miss out on that, do you?"

"Bride's mates," he murmurs with his head in the gutter.

"Yeah," she smiles. "Now change. You have any idea how hard it is to find a suit _your_ size in Japan? You're such a huge oaf."

"Bride's mates," he repeats, walking to the bathroom.

"Be quick. We gotta get going."

He pokes his head out, "When's the estimated time of death?"

She scrolls through her cell phone, "Ah… that would be at," she squints at the bright screen, "13:45:52."

He peeks at his alarm clock. It's almost noon. "Gonna be tight," he says before retreating back into the bathroom.

…

The wedding wasn't hard to find. It was outdoor and over-the-top. Strings of flowers and red, lucky lanterns were rung from smooth pillars. Renji pointed, "Fire hazard," he says and Rukia nods.

Her slim fingers jab towards the buffet table. Dainty, silver skewers are lined around a boiling fondue. "Murder weapon," she mumbles.

"You have such a gruesome mind." He looks around again and motions to an ice sculpture. It's freezing peeks jut into the beak of a bird. "Pointy," he says as small drops leak down its sides. It was a hot afternoon. Rukia watches the sweating ice form a tiny puddle around the sculpture. It leaks onto the glassy patio.

"Bet ya someone does a face plant right into it. Icicle through the forehead," she says.

Renji's nose wrinkles, "I hope not." He motions ahead of himself with his chin. "Bride's mates," he says, abandoning Rukia for the tightly clad women.

"Hey!" she whines. "You're supposed to be my pretend-fiancé!" She watches as the tall, red haired man inserts himself into the throng of ladies. "Whatever."

A young lady places her hand over Renji's arm. "So you're from the groom's side then?" she asks with a pleasant voice.

"Yeah," Renji says. "Distant cousin."

"Family friend."

"Free bar?" he asks and she nods. Well in _that_ case, "Can I get you a drink?"

…

The stall is small.

The young lady reaches down and tugs on Renji's belt, sliding his trousers down his thighs. Her name was Diana, or maybe Dahlia. He couldn't remember, so he'd called her Dee. "Do you have skin?" she asks.

"Wouldn't come to a wedding without it," he says, his mouth covering hers.

Rukia wanders around outside and glances at her watch. In fifteen minutes, someone was going to die, and she had no idea where her big friend had gone. She made a mental note to never actually, seriously, _ever_ go on a real date with him- not that she ever would.

Two thin legs are wrapped around his bare waist as they move together. One of his hands rested on her hip and the other reached up over the stall. Her small back was nestled into the crook of the corner. Her sweating skin was sliding up and down the metal walls as she panted encouraging words to Renji.

Rukia stepped cautiously around the growing puddle of blood, her heels clinking against the patio. She had only recently ripped the pair of Manolo Blahniks off a corpse she had reaped; and would not even entertain the idea of ruining them.

Guests ran around, screaming and teary, dialing on cell phones. The mother of the deceased bride was raving. She was going to sue the church, or so she said. The father stood, gaping and awestruck. His face completely changed from the smiling picture only moments ago; when he'd heard his daughter say, 'this is the happiest day of my life.' Those were her last words before the trellis collapsed onto her, driving a thick splinter into her temple and inevitably killing her.

Apparently the weight of the large, decorative cross had caused it to bend. It was the mother who insisted it be placed there; it was a Christian wedding after all, and she'd be damned if people didn't know it. Oh, they'll know all right. She'd made sure of that.

'Dee' panted, her body lax against Renji's. "Do you hear screaming?" she asks. Renji pulls up his pants and she pulls down her skirt.

He grinned, "Yeah," he says. "It sounds like someone _died_ out there."

…

It wasn't until a few minutes past five that they arrived back at Renji's stolen flat, bride ghost in tow. "That was a disaster," Rukia hissed. "I'll never be able to show my face there again!" She'd been exposed as a wedding crasher. 'Just who're you related too?' she was asked by the bride's aunt Carol after she offered her condolences. It was a stupid answer, but she'd told dear aunt Carol, 'the priest.' Of course this brought up questions and suspicion. Soon enough the raving mother was throwing silver skewers.

"You don't go to church anyway," Renji offered.

"This place is disgusting," it was the bride who spoke. "Take me back! I want to see my husband!"

"He's not your husband anymore," Renji says. "Til death do you part, remember?" The bride began to bawl.

Rukia sucked on her teeth. "This is a fucking disaster. A grand fucking disaster."

"I want to be buried in my dress," the bride whined. "I want you to go and tell my mother that."

"I can't," Rukia says. "Your mother is convinced I should be fried in oil." Oh, yes. She'd really said that back at the wedding, her hand cuddling silver skewers.

"I wonder what they're going to do with your head," Renji says. "You know, since there's that big 'ol stick in it. I guess you won't be having a open casket funeral."

The bride blinked. "My funeral?" Her brow rose in thoughtfulness. "I want to go to my funeral. I'm staying until then. I want to see my husband's reaction."

"Ex-husband," he says.

"Oh no. No. No. No!" Rukia says quickly. "You are not going to your funeral. You've got to pass over."

"I refuse. I have unfinished business."

"I really hate forcing spirits to leave," Rukia says. "It's much nicer if you'd just pass on peacefully."

"I will not!"

Rukia rubbed her eyes. "Oh boy," Renji says. "Look, Ruk I've got a reap in like," he glances at the clock, "less than an hour. So I've-" She waves a small hand in his direction. "Yeah, uh, well… good luck with her." The bride crosses her arms and frowns tightly.

…

He walks alone, his red hair flying. He makes his way down Main Street, a quick check of the time and his feet progress faster. Traffic is light, but the neighborhood is noisy. Children run around, pattering on the streets and through the houses. And then the neighborhood grows painfully familiar. 187 Main Street. The Kurosaki Clinic.

His mouth pulls into a frown. But perhaps this isn't too much of a surprise. It is _sort of_ a hospital after all. People may die here; although, he still felt uneasy. Peaceful and natural deaths were not usually assigned to him. He was stationed as _active_, meaning he typically dealt with murders, freak accidents and suicide.

He opened up the text message, reconfirming the address. Yup, right spot. Two minutes until show time and then that young, Japanese boy comes around the corner, his unmistakable hair shivering in the breeze. He stops in front of a tall machine, his eyes scanning through its glass door and examining its contents. Shimmering coins dance through his fingers.

Renji scans the area again, trying to pinpoint that person; the one who is about to die. He watches the three young kids playing jump rope. Would the girl trip and crack her skull? Would the older boy wrap the rope around her tiny throat and strangle her? Would a car skid around the corner and squish one? He looks up into the sky. Would someone jump off the building? He hears someone cursing ahead of him. He brings his gaze down.

"Damn machine," the boy grumbles. Renji watches as the boy kicks the whirring, drink-dispensing hunk of technology, and it's suddenly clear who is about to die. The machine dips from the wall. Oh yeah, this is it. Renji strides quickly toward the impending accident.

Ichigo pounds the return button violently and the machine rocks. A shadow pools around his feet. "Whatever," he grumbles and begins to turn. A sudden touch of metal presses against his shoulder, it's so heavy and unexpected. His brows bend in confusion.

A loud noise feels like a shot through his ears. His bone-encased brain is crushed and spills onto the walkway. His ribs rip through his tendinus fibers and pierce through his abdomen, only to be shattered against the unwavering weight of the vending machine. The instant passes. He cannot move. His body does not listen to his brain, which is actually, now, just a pile goop.

He doesn't feel the thick, dark blood running out of him, draining and paling his skin. How does he know this? He cannot see it, cannot feel it, but he knows that he's under the heavy machine. He's been fucking steam pressed against the sidewalk.

Footsteps come toward him. Someone is standing just above him. The man squats and runs his long fingers against the boy's hand- the only intact limb. The pale hand is almost severed from the arm trapped under the tipped machine. And now Ichigo is standing next to Renji, looking at his gory corpse oozing from under the fallen mechanism.

"T-that's me?" Ichigo's voice wavers. His throat is dry and his mouth is hot and sticky. A confused noise fumbles from his lips. "No, no. That's not- what… what's…" his voice fades into the wind.

"Sorry, kid."

Ichigo shakes his head. "I- I'm dead?! How is-? You! You're that guy who was trashed by the bus! What're you-?! I-! Did _you_ kill me?!"

"No," Renji says. "The vending machine fell on you."

"Oh." Ichigo frowns. "But you-!"

"_I'm_ a shinigami. Death in the flesh," Renji says, patting his stomach. "And I don't decide _when_ people die. I'm just around when it happens."

"…So I'm really dead?"

"Yes."

"That's not fair!" Ichigo screams, his temper revealing itself. "I'm only fifteen! I haven't _done_ anything yet! I- I have my whole life to live!"

"Sorry, kid, that's just the way it goes."

"Bullshit! Why did it have to be me?"

Renji let out a long breath, "Don't know. It just was."

"Can't you," Ichigo's mind reeled, "can't you take some old guy instead?" Renji's head shook. "No! This can't be real. I can't be dead!" Renji offered a small smile. "What a stupid way to go!" The boy's eyes squeezed together. A painful feeling swept over his body.

"Come on," Renji says. "Let's go."

…

He walks up the street, no longer alone. Beside him is an orange haired ghost, who says, "You're dead?" And Renji nods. Yes, he was also dead. Ichigo's mouth presses together. "So what happens to me now?"

"Either you pass on or we have a soul funeral."

"Soul funeral?"

"I send _you_ to a soul society," he clarifies. He reads the boy's demanding stare. "It's like… a workplace… for shinigami. We get our orders from there. So, if you don't pass on… you go there and wait. For normal souls, I suppose it's like a big, boring waiting room."

"What would I wait for?"

"To be reincarnated," Renji says. "You go into another body to die, and perhaps actually pass on that time."

"Pass on to where?"

Renji smiles, "I have no fucking clue."

Ichigo pauses. "How do I pass on?"

"…When you're ready. _It'll_ come for ya," he says. "And you'll follow it and go wherever you'll go."

"And you're here to…?"

"Wait with you," he smiles. "Nobody should have to die _alone_; it's shinigami policy."

**2. Third Party Rip off **

Ichigo shuts his eyes. After a few seconds, he reopens them. "Damn," he says and shuts them again. Renji looks over at the boy, watching as he opens his eyes again.

"What're you doing?" Renji calls from across the room. They're back at his stolen flat. Ichigo shuts his eyes again and Rukia hobbles into the room.

"I sprained my ankle," she whines.

Ichigo opens up his eyes. "Damn," he says again.

"You're ankle's fine," Renji says and then points to Ichigo. "And what the hell are you doing?" The boy's eyes shift onto Renji and then back onto the floor. He shuts them again, mumbling about how when he opens them _this_ time, for sure, he'll wake up back in bed. "Quack," Renji says, swatting the air with his hand dismissively.

"Renji," Rukia says, sitting next to him on the couch. "Massage my feet." He sighs and drags her tiny ankles onto his lap.

"Okay," Ichigo whispers. "This time for sure."

"I didn't get any messages from the Captain yet," Renji says, working his fingers deftly around her feet.

"Damn," Ichigo whispers to himself.

"Really? I'm surprised. Brother's usually quite regular when it comes to work," the words tumble out of her mouth.

"Regular is-" Renji began. She wiggles her toes.

"Pull on my toes," she says. "I like that."

"Oh. Alright," he grips onto her second toe and tugs it gently. "Anyway, _regular_ is an understatement. He's a total hardass and you know it."

"Well, maybe you could loosen him up some," she smiles, digging her heels playfully into his leg.

"Damn," Ichigo whispers again.

"Ew," Renji says. "Seriously, no." Something glints on Rukia's finger. "When'd you get that?" he asks, eyeing the platinum band around her center finger. Her violent eyes glance down to admire the reflective, square rock, which is planted on the band.

"I took it from the bride," she says simply. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Yeah," Renji says. "It looks expensive. You gonna pawn it?"

Ichigo's face suddenly appears over Rukia's narrow shoulder. "That's horrible," he says. "You stole that from a dead body, didn't you?" Rukia's hand curls defensively.

"Well she wasn't using it," she whines.

"That doesn't matter!" Ichigo says. "It's not yours! It belongs to her family… or maybe to the groom. I don't really know how that works… but still! I know _you're_ not supposed to have it."

"Ichigo," Renji says. "Just relax. It's not like shinigami get paid for the great service we provide. We do everything free of charge." He looks at his small co-worker. "We don't even get benefits… and I wouldn't mind free dental care. That'd be bloody nice." Rukia nods.

"So what?" Ichigo shouts. "If you can't afford it, then get a fucking job!"

Renji scratches his head, "Never mind you. If I got a job I wouldn't be able to watch the late show every night."

"You lazy son of a-! What the hell is wrong with you?" Blood rushes into Ichigo's face. "What kinda God steals from mortals?"

Rukia laughs. "We were mortal too," she says, "once. But then we died."

"That doesn't really make sense," Ichigo says.

"Sure it does," she smiles, "I died in 1938 via plane crash. My soul is on contract for an indefinite amount of time. Basically, until _I_ pass over, I have to stay _here_ and collect the souls of the dearly departed." She was smiling brightly and it made Ichigo uneasy. "That would be _you_."

"I don't get it. Why didn't you have to go to this _soul society_?" the boy asks.

"Because," she smiles sadly, "someone's contract was up and I was called to replace it." There was a hint of forlorn in her eyes and Ichigo broke the contact. He gestured rudely at Renji, whose eyes were stuck on the TV.

"How'd he die?" he asks.

"Renji?" Rukia says. "He jumped off a bridge in 1962." It seemed that amongst the dead, no one was quite modest about his or her own death. It was just another conversation starter. Another badge on your chest and Ichigo, he'd been smushed under a vending machine. There was no shame in that. Not a damn thing.

"He," Ichigo stammered. "Renji- you… killed yourself?" The man's lip pulled to the side.

"Not really," he says, still focused on the screen.

"You had to have known," Rukia points out, "that you wouldn't survive a dive off the Royal Gorge bridge." She grins with a knowing look.

Renji breathes out his nose. "No, I didn't know that," he says. "I was high." Rukia bursts out into a steady laughter. She never tired of hearing about Renji's ecstatic plunge into doom.

Renji shrugged and switched the channel. Ichigo sat back on his heels. He was going to close his eyes and this time, when he opened them, he would not still be in the company of two, _very_ insane shinigami.

…

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," he says. He sits back on his palms, looking at Ichigo. A lopsided smile plays at his lips. His red hair flows down to his waist, brushing at his skin. He lifted one dark, decorated brow.

Ichigo's eyes bugged. He hadn't meant to stare, but the man was an impressive sight. The boy's sheepish eyes studied Renji's stomach. It formed into six mounds, like rippled armor with deep tribal markings. It filled the boy with confusion to be looking at another man thusly.

"Seriously," Renji says, still grinning. Ichigo's gaze lifted to the man's mouth. His lips were shaped with soft, generous curves. The boy watched intently as they moved once more, "there's room on the bed for three." Just then Rukia's scrawny arm came around Renji's waist. She mumbled and inched closer, her mouth only a breath away from Renji's hip.

"No," Ichigo stammered, a flush coloring his cheeks. "I don't think so."

"Well, if you change you're mind," the man says, lowering himself next to Rukia. And Ichigo is positive that he will not change his mind. In the corner of the room, there's this rusty, old fan. It's blowing around the warm air of the flat. Without even thinking about it, Ichigo's breathing in the air. His lungs expand and detract. The oxygen is taken into the blood and fuels his heart. In a moment, it'll begin to beat again.

He stretches an arm toward the shaking fan. Lifting his palm onto its dust covered cage. He doesn't notice, but he feels the wind. It blows between his strands of hair and once again, the soft tresses bend.

**The idea is too similar to Dead Like Me.**

**I know.**

**But it was unintentional.**

**Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

_You know the drill, but this is actually quite a tame chapter for me. _**  
**

**HOUSEHOLD GODS **

**3. Bad Ghost Stories **

The sun is yanked up over the edge of the city and its fiery light leaks through the blinds. It drips down from the sill and pools around the bed, creating puddles of light in the wrinkles of the bed sheets. A body shifts underneath and shadow and light contend.

Renji rolls out of the bed, leaving Rukia buried. He walks next to the boy who sleeps on his floor. "Isn't this interesting," he says and the boy doesn't hear.

"Renji," she says from the bed and in her hand is a slim, black phone. He walks over.

He says, "Rukia, did you notice?"

And she nods her head. She noticed.

He grabs the phone. He shuffles through the screens. One new text message, one, like yesterday. He looks back to the boy, the boy, who isn't going to take the news well, who will shout and protest; and be rebellious and fickle. Who is, and remains, just all too human.

He stirs and moans, rolling on the floor. This boy, this undead boy, he growls in his sleep. His arms move over his head. His legs stretch taut and his eyes creep open. "Good morning," Renji says, not grinning. "Hope you slept well." The boy just looks away. "Because we've got work to do."

…

On the phone, he's a different person. He does not smile or jeer. He's a whole different man; one who wouldn't jump off the tallest suspension bridge. Ichigo watches. He watches those generous lips move and speak. He listens to that rough voice, the way it hums in the man's throat. Renji doesn't notice. He just speaks into the phone and then slaps it shut. He looks down onto Ichigo. Looks at him with these golden, amber eyes. Just looking. Then he smiles.

Ichigo asks, "What're you smiling for?"

And then he says, "Congrats. You're a shinigami." He says, "Better luck next time."

"What?" The words are flat.

"You haven't noticed yet?" And Renji is grinning again. His phone neatly tucked away. So Ichigo asks, noticed what? And he says, "That people are looking at you."

Ichigo's head tips up. They were on the sidewalk. Walking somewhere to which Renji did not specify, and yes, people are walking around him. Their shoulders squeeze against their necks to pass by without a nudge. They twist their bodies to slip around him.

"Don't worry," Renji says and Ichigo lifts his hand, reaching out in front of him. "You're still dead." And he grabs onto a short man passing by. The short man startles and looks back at Ichigo. What kind of outburst? And then Ichigo releases him, letting him slip back into the moving crowd. Like fishing. "You're just-"

"Like you?"

Renji nods. "To the living world," he says, "you're not _you_ anymore. You're not anybody anymore." And it's a lot to grasp. "This you that you are," he says, "is not the same you that you were." And it all seems redundant. "Because _that_ you is dead to everybody and _this_ you, they'll never know." They walk side by side, but Renji is a little faster. "Your family," he says. "It's better if you stay away from them."

The boy takes a breath. "This shinigami business, this whole being dead thing," Ichigo says. "It all sounds," and his voice gets very quiet, "like it's, I don't know, _lonely_."

To a fifteen-year-old boy, to be dead and ignored, to remain unacknowledged, yes. It does sound lonely. You're a dead and friendless shinigami; you move about as you, but not the _same_ you, and it's lonely. To be alive, but dead, that's lonely too. To be stuck, tied to a chair on earth, and watching you're family live on without you- you get lonely. And suddenly, you just can't stand to be around the living, around all those jointly people. To be the minority, the minority of anything, it's a lonely business.

A hand comes onto his shoulder and the boy looks into those golden, amber eyes. Renji says, "If you get lonely," he says, "then I'll be your family." And they keep walking, Renji's hand back at his side. The moment passes.

"Where are we going?"

Renji says, "915 Elms Road."

Ichigo swallows and Renji gives him the international hand sign for peace. Only he means, 'two'. "13:02:15 and 13: 04: 01," he says. "Two people have two unbreakable appointments with death."

"Great," Ichigo mumbles. "So why am _I_ going?"

"To get a feel for the job," Renji says. "It's like…" And he thinks. "Training, or something, for a job."

"But I don't want the job."

Renji frowns. "You think God wanted the job of being God?"

"What?"

"Well really, if you think about it, if you're God, then what else are you _supposed_ to do?" And he says, "You just have to be God and be_ a god_. You think God _wanted_ to be a god? Or did he _have_ to be a god?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're a shinigami, Ichigo Kurosaki. You have obligations."

The boy shakes his head, thoroughly confused and says, "okay." He accepts it. Whatever Renji said, sure. Sure, all right. That unsound argument, that fallacy in logic, Renji's irrelevant conclusion, all accepted.

And they keep walking.

In each other's company, they are not so alone.

They are not so dead.

…

At 915 Elms street, there's a fucking party going on. On this lovely afternoon, in this large, brick home with the fancy driveway, there's a bunch of middle-aged women gathering. There are shiny cars all lined up down the street and sky blue balloons swaying from the mailbox. Tiny, white print says, 'it's a boy.' At this fucking baby shower, two people are about to die. At this celebration of life, two people are going to expire.

Times up. Death is knocking at your door.

Renji is on the porch, waiting. He raps against the door again. Ichigo stands beside him. Nobody answers. He scratches his neck. "Bloody hell," he mumbles and glances at his watch.

_What happens when you don't let death in? _

Renji tries the handle and Ichigo slaps his hand away. "That's illegal," he says.

"Yeah, but, we gotta get in there one way or another."

"Why? Why can't we just leave? Let them have a nice party and go home alive. You can come back for them in fifty years."

Renji knocks at the door again. "Nope," he says. There's a rustle at the blinds as the ladies decide who will answer the door. A thin, blonde woman appears in the doorway, shrinking against it. She greets death warily.

"Hi," Renji says and smiles a fake smile. "Our car broke down just over there. Can we use your phone?" And the small blonde shakes her head. They don't have a phone. Or, wait, no, it's just broken, but she's very sorry- perhaps the next house? "Oh, that's too bad," he says. "Can I use your washroom then?" No, that's broken too. The door closes and death is left standing at the porch.

"You know," Ichigo says. "It's because you look like a thug."

Renji tries the window.

Kitchen windows are _always_ open, something about the smells. He waves Ichigo over, "Let me stand on your shoulders."

"Hell no."

"Come on! Come on," he hisses. "Give me a boost. I wonder if they've got cake."

Of course they are caught, but not before one o'clock. And really, even when they're caught trespassing, no one really cares. Everyone is more concerned with the two dead people. Those two on the floor, yeah, they're dead.

It happened only a few moments ago, after Renji dragged Ichigo up through the window. You see, the kitchen windows are _always_ open. As soon as their feet hit the floor, the new mother, the guest of honor, she hit the floor too. Only she hit it after she tripped down a flight of stairs. And by the look of her neck, bent to a perfect 90-degree angle, she was dead. And someone screams. Someone always screams. And she screams, "the baby!"

"Baby?" Renji says, and this is about the time that Renji and Ichigo are caught. Renji, coming around the corner with a piece of cake, he forks in a mouthful and says, "where?" And now everyone is just looking down at the dead mother, the dead mother who was holding the new baby in her arms- who is still holding the baby in her arms. Oh, now he gets it. The baby is mashed under her. He hands his paper plate to Ichigo, who just stands dumbstruck. Ichigo forces out words to ask Renji what he's doing. Why is he going near the bodies?

If death knocks at your door, he will wait there. If you do not let him in, he will let himself in. If you are marked for death, you will die. Death, the great escape, you can't escape it.

In front of all these hysterical women, who are running and shouting and crying, Renji pulls out his cell phone. Confirmation. Soul registry. He presses a few buttons and snaps the phone shut. On his left, the ghost of the mother is standing and cradling her baby's ghost. She kisses the baby on the forehead and says, "sorry."

…

"You can shove this job up your ass!"

"Ichigo." They're back at the flat.

"How can this be fair? A baby and a mom die over a fall down the stairs! Who decides that, huh?" He points to Renji's pocket, to the black phone. "Who sends the message? Who decides these people need to die?!"

"I don't know," and Renji shrugs. "People just die."

"They _just_ die?!" His eyes stretch open. "They don't _just_ die. Their dreams, their relationships, their influence, it all fucking dies!"

Renji drags his hand over his face. Those are the words of a child, of young, adolescent logic. "People need death, Ichigo." He says, "people need to die and so they die."

"Why?!"

"For compassion's sake. Think about it," Renji says.

"What?! How is it _compassion_ for a child to die before it can even speak?!"

"Well, otherwise, that baby would've had to live as a pile of mush under its vegetable mom forever." His lips pull to the side. "Accidents happen, murder happens, all this shit just happens. It's not planned. Death," he says, "is a release."

Oh. And Ichigo, he accepts it. Whatever Renji said, sure.

Sure, all right.

"…I still think they should plan it better," Ichigo says. "You know, like instead of a baby, how about a carnie that lures children behind the stands with promises of a _special water gun_? You have to get on your knees to see it, that's what he tells you. Then he says, to get it to squirt you have to pump it with your mouth. And then, you find out that this _special water gun_ doesn't even shoot water." Then the boy nods his head, satisfied with supposition

And Renji asks, "What kind of carnivals did you go to?" Crossing his arms, he asks, "seriously, when you were a kid?"

**4. Detoxify **

When he was alive, Renji was a male model. Don't laugh, but for money he would be measured and combed and placed beside some dying girl, some dead thin girl. And the flashes would fill up the room. He would turn, stare and smile, all on command. A slave to the camera. He was whatever you wanted him to be.

Every night was gym night. No sugar, just protein and a thick dumbbell. Tuna, vegetables and less than three percent body fat. Don't even think about ice cream. And never mind alcohol. A few drinks, and you'll increase your amount of estrogen. That female hormone, it'll make your body store fat and inhibit muscle growth. Anything with carbohydrates, those are _non-foods_. You don't eat them, period.

For dinner, he's got a bottle of cold water- cold, because your body expends calories to warm it up in your stomach, and a low fat vegan burger. Just the burger and two fiber supplements, those are perfect for making you feel full. In his cupboard, he's got waiting needles rolling around, clinking together.

Don't even think about drugs. Those will make you _too_ thin. No, every Friday Renji would shoot B12. An extra vitamin kick to keep those energy levels up and boost your immune system. As a bonus, it'll take off a few extra pounds.

In the morning, for breakfast, Renji would eat kelp. Only on Monday mornings though, you don't want any excessive iodine build up. This is how he keeps that unattainable body, that _healthy_ body. You know, the one everyone wants?

Nothing is impossible, just impractical.

The thing they don't tell you, all those male models, what they won't tell you about is _peaking_. It's a simple fact that nobody looks _that_ good all year round. Not even models. So to trick you, what they do is called peaking. One week before a take, you stop eating sodium.

Salt, it holds fifty times its weight in water. So if you were to eat a pickle, you could be one pound heavier tomorrow. And you've only got seven days until you're in front of that camera; until you've got to be what everyone wants.

For this week, Renji spends forty minutes in the sauna everyday. And during this week, he does all his cardio in two heavy sweatshirts. The day of the shot, he's all muscle definition. All his fluids, that water that clings under your skin, it's all sweated out. He's tired and grumpy and hungry, but damn; just take a look at that cover shoot.

Right now, today, Renji is eating tacos. He sits across the booth from Ichigo, filling his stomach with cheap, greasy meat. He's chewing on cheese, the full fat version not even skim, and crunching the white flour shell between his teeth. It's Taco Time for breakfast. And Ichigo says, "Damn."

He says, "I'm glad it's Tuesday." Taco Tuesday means two dollars a taco. "Renji you eat like a horse."

"Like a man," Renji corrects him and taps his phone. "Mail order," he says. "I ordered one for you yesterday. I couldn't afford anything more than ground shipping."

"That's free shipping," Ichigo says. "That's pathetic." And Renji shrugs.

Other worldly shipping and handling fees were unreal, much worse than international.

"Doesn't mean you aren't working in the meantime. I got a reap for you and since it's your first, I'll go with you."

"You're saying I've got to kill someone?"

Renji nods. "In about twenty minutes. Just down the street."

"Is that why you treated me to breakfast?" Tacos are not breakfast.

Renji nods again. "Someone's gonna kick it at Elma's bakery. And it's _your_ reap."

…

Renji is eating a doughnut. The white powder on his lips is the same color as the bakery walls. In the air a sweet bread smell is at hand and in seven minutes someone is going to die. That pretty ceramic floor, in a moment, blood will probably be split on it. The glass case, the one that displays all the baking, maybe it'll get shattered. Either way, something ugly will happen.

"Always keep your eyes open," Renji says with damp dough rolling into his cheeks. "Look for the warning signs. You want to find the person who's going to die _before_ they die."

"Why?"

"It just makes everything go smoother," he says. "If you know who's going down, you can be in and out of the area faster." He brushes his fingers against his pants, leaving a white powder residue. "Last thing you want," he says, "is to be around when first response gets here."

Ichigo nods. "So what do I look for?"

"Hazards. Personally, I'm always wary of the fighting couple. Angry people, they're unpredictable." He points into the back of the room. "See there? That's the kitchen. All sorts of things can go wrong in a kitchen. So pay close attention."

"Alright," the boy hisses. "What do I do if I get it wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I get the wrong person!"

"Oh. Nothing. Really, you'll just lose time." Renji clicks his tongue, digging pieces of the soggy doughnut from his teeth. "Shinigami don't really _kill_ people. To be really exact, we just break the barrier that keeps a soul inside its body. If we touch a person who's body is dead, then that soul can get out."

Ichigo rubs his eyes. Rubbing them he says, "How am I supposed to guess? This is impossible! Anything could happen."

Just then two men charge through the door. Their heavy boots thump against those pretty ceramic tiles. Over their faces are dark ski masks and in the smaller man's hand is a shiny pistol. Renji points. He says, "hazard."

The men in ski masks look at each other. They say, "You sure about this?" And the other guy says, "trust me." Everyone gets on the floor.

"Renji," Ichigo whispers. Renji just points ahead. His eyes, they say, just wait. The guys in ski masks speak softly to each other. They nod in unison then approach the counter.

"Everything you got, lady," the guy says. He pokes the woman's hand with the tip of the gun. "Come on, come on," he says.

Renji looks at his watch. "Two minutes, Ichigo. These guys look like a complete idiots," he whispers. "My leg is cramping up." Ichigo grinds his molars together. Who is it? Who's getting shot?

Then the woman at the counter, she says, "Johnny?" And the guy in the ski mask jumps.

He says, "Kim?" He lowers the gun to his waist. He says, "Damn, you're looking good. How ya been doing?"

And the other guy, he says, "Dude! What the hell?" He jabs his gun at the woman, at Kim. He shouts, "Put everything you got from the cash in the bag. Do it now!" Kim rolls her eyes.

She says, "Okay, okay. Just don't shoot anyone." And she opens up the register.

Johnny shoves his grimy pistol into his belt, he says, "Look, Kim, I'm real sorry about this." Thirty seconds. "But, hey, maybe later we could," and he stops. He asks, "Are those sirens?"

Everyone on the floor perks up at the sounds of the whining police cars. We're saved. Kim leans into the counter; she puts her tiny, open phone by the register and says, "Sorry Johnny. There is no later."

And Johnny shoots Kim in the head.

"Bitch."

Ichigo is dragging his body across the floor, trying to get behind the counter. Trying to reach poor, overconfident Kim, whose brain is now blown all over the ceramic tile. The guy in the ski mask, he looks over at Ichigo. "Where the fuck are you going?" he asks.

Ichigo's eyes roll onto Kim. There's a huge gaping hole between her eyes. It sucks in her cheeks and nose and leaks blood like a popped pimple. Just a massive gouged pimple on the bridge of her absent nose.

"Hey," Renji says a few feet away, his belly on the floor. "Just take it easy, all right?" Ichigo keeps crawling, he reaches an arm toward Kim and pokes her in the arm. Is that it? Is it done? He glances at Renji.

Both the guys in ski masks are at the window. They try to see how close the police cars are. With their backs turned, Renji and Ichigo start for the kitchen door. Out the back, quick and quiet. Kim's ghost stomps behind them. She's saying, "That fucking jerk! He killed me! Did you see that? He fucking shot me! That fuck-bag!"

One ski mask guy starts yelling at the door. To the cops he yells, "Don't come in here! We have hostages and guns! So if you get any closer, we'll shot them!" One cop just keeps on moving towards the door. "Hey," he's shouting. "I told you not to get close!" The guy in the ski mask, he freaks. He starts pumping bullets into the front door. And the cop runs back to his car. They really did have guns.

The ski mask guy is smiling. He raises his gun up in the air and fires off another bullet. "That's right!" He yells, "that's right!" On the ceiling, there's this big steel vent. That's what the bullet hits when it ricochets.

**5. Grab That Gun **

Byakuya and Renji have always had a weird relationship. This is what Rukia thinks. She sits on the sofa watching TV, but listens to that rusty fan shake on the nightstand.

When her brother would visit the living world, Renji would disappear. He'd be in the room with her and then poof. Renji was gone. And then her brother would always greet her and ask how things were going. She would say everything was normal and he would ask, "How's Renji?"

Those nights, the nights Byakuya would visit, Renji wouldn't come home. He never said where he went; he just disappeared. This one time, Byakuya was sitting at the table in Renji's stolen flat. He'd said, "Rukia, did you know Renji was a model?" And Rukia didn't believe him. She said Renji simply didn't have the temperament, but Byakuya showed her this magazine. Of course, Rukia laughed. She'd said, oh my god. He looked so pretty. Much thinner. And Byakuya, he'd said, "He still looks pretty."

In the morning Byakuya would return to Soul Society. He'd leave and in a few hours Renji would reappear. For the rest of the day, he didn't say much. He'd sulk around and lay in his bed. Rukia would say, "Stop sulking. It's irritating." And Renji would just hide under the sheets.

This one day, she'd said, "I saw you in a magazine." And Renji didn't respond. She kept talking, she'd said, "I didn't know you were a model. You looked really good."

She'd said, "Not that you don't anymore, but I was just surprised." Renji just groans and turns in the bed. "You didn't have those tattoos either," she said, pointing. "It was so weird." His head is covered with a pillow. "When did you get them? And why so many? And why on your face? You know, they're so distracting that I didn't even notice what a pretty face you had." She smiles and paws at this dress that she'd stolen from a dead socialite's house.

"To remind myself," Renji grumbled from under the sheets. "That's why I got them."

And Rukia asked, "A reminder of what?"

"Not to be what everyone wants." He rolled to the edge of the bed. The sheets pulled from his back and Rukia looks over at him. She looked at the long, fresh red lines dragged across his shoulders, at the imprints of teeth on his ribs that hadn't been there the night before. She looked at the skin, bruised from sucking, that blotted his back and looked away.

Renji, his eyes are jammed shut. He lied there, hating himself and trying to forget. If only he could forget.

Memories are what haunt us.

**6. Haunt **

Ichigo is shouting, in his arms is Renji's limp body. He shouts for Rukia, for her to come and help him, but there's no answer. No movement. She's not there. The ghost of Kim, she says, "Um, maybe this is a bit selfish… but, I'd like to be filled in. I mean, I _am_ dead right?"

And Ichigo yells, "Rukia!"

Renji's hand is gripping the back of his head, deep in his skull there's a bullet. That bullet that ricocheted off the steel ceiling vent, it hit Renji right on his opisthocranion. They were half out the door and wham. Renji was on the ground.

Now, Ichigo drags Renji into the main room and leaves him on the ground. He starts jumping around, looking through cupboards. His mind is spinning. Kim, she's saying, "Hello? I'm talking to you."

"He got shot in the head!" That's what Ichigo is saying. "Oh god, what do I do? Rukia!"

"I got hit one in the head too," Kim says. "Did you forget? Why are you the only one who can see me?"

Ichigo, he's kneeling down beside Renji. He puts his palm under the man's head and lifts it slightly. Renji's long hair sticks to the floor. The blood starts clotting and turning dark and Ichigo swallows air. He says, "Renji. Renji, come on. Renji."

"Hello?" Kim is saying.

Ichigo's jaw is clenching. He needs for Renji to open his eyes, for him to talk, for him to look at Ichigo with those golden, amber eyes and say something. Anything. Just wake up.

Don't you leave me alone. I couldn't stand being alone.

So wake up.

And he does. Renji, he says, "that fucking hurt." And instantly, Ichigo's arms come around the man's bloody neck. His cheek is pressed against his.

Ichigo is saying, "thank god."

And Renji's eyes are almost popping out of his head. Ichigo is hugging him. The boy's chest is lying tightly next to his. Renji says, "Um," he says, "Ichigo?" And the boy pulls away.

"I thought you were going to die."

"I already died, remember?"

"Yeah, but, I thought you were going to do it again."

"No," Renji says. "No, you don't do something like that again. Dying," he says, "it's a one time thing. Where's Kim?" They look behind them. The room is empty except for them.

"Passed on?" Ichigo says, hopes.

…

Renji has his shirt off. He's in front of the sink. Drops of water roll down the curves of his back. Ichigo is behind him, sitting, using the toilet like a chair; watching. Renji runs a thin comb through his hair. Bringing it over the sink, he picks out the dark clots of blood and rinses them down the drain. He shakes out his damp hair. Through the mirror he sees Ichigo stand up. "Pass me a towel," Renji says, "please?"

And Ichigo doesn't move. Renji frowns and turns. He reaches around Ichigo, who is in his way. His fingers don't quite touch the cloth he's reaching for. He tries to step around the boy, but Ichigo leans into him. Renji looks down to him, at the orange mess of hair. Ichigo's eyes are lowered and shy. Then his nose touches softly against Renji's.

Renji stops reaching and takes a step to the side. Ichigo's nose nudges against his cheek again and he freezes. Ichigo's face, it gets a little closer. It keeps coming closer until Renji feels the boy's lips press onto his. He doesn't move; he just stands there and Ichigo pulls away slightly. His breath is hot against Renji's face. Ichigo's nose touches against his chin. Their bodies are standing too close together.

Ichigo's lips touch up against Renji's again, but only for a second before he turns his vision back onto the floor. That's when Renji's hand grabs his face. That's when their lips meet again; their mouths open and moving, taking in air from gaps of their lips.

And Ichigo's legs are pressed against the edge of the bath. Renji gives him a push and the boy falls into the grimy tub. His knees hang over the edge and his face is beyond your ordinary expression of shock. Renji, he's standing with the towel over his shoulder, grinning. He says, "you sure get in the way a lot," his teeth showing, gleaming with that winning smile. As if in any minute, there will be a camera flash.

That practiced grin, it falls from his face and he leaves the bathroom. Leaves Ichigo, folded and bowled over in the tub. And that grin, Renji's confident grin, it doesn't fool anybody. In his eyes, what's shining is not confidence.

What's shining is fear, bright and ordinary.

…

Renji, if you ask him about ghosts, he'll tell you that memories are the only real ghosts. It's what you can't forget that haunts you. It's these bits of recollection that are constantly reminding you, _these_ he'll say, are the real ghosts.

He'll say that souls, those walking dead people, they've got nothing on memories. They don't directly interfere with you. Memories, whether they're of people or what they've done to you, they are your ghosts.

They follow you around and jiggle your chandeliers. If your blinds are rattling, or your piano keys dipping, or maybe all your channels are static, those are your memories. Memories, he'll say, it's all a mind thing. They're the ones that fuck with your head.

If you're feeling fingers on your body, skin on your skin, or a tongue in your mouth and it all feels right. You feel home. And you'll feel happy just feeling his fingers, skin and tongue; But this is where ghosts come in. This is when you remember what fingers can do. What tongues and skin and bodies can _really_ do.

You feel the ghost of someone else's tongue, someone else's body. And suddenly, it's not Ichigo who's touching you; it's _him_. It's all those memories of _him_. Yeah, Renji will say, it's memories that haunt you.

When Rukia comes in, dragging her feet through the doorway, she sighs. She undoes the black leather straps at her ankle, and shouts for attention. "Renji! Ichigo," she calls them over and over. Finally Ichigo comes around the corner.

He says, "Renji's out reaping."

"Oh," and she places her little shoes on the mat. She says, "Ichigo, then can you rub my feet? I've been standing all day."

So on the sofa, Ichigo starts kneading her feet with his knuckles. "It's the shoes you wear," he says. "Too tight and small."

Rukia just sighs. "You wouldn't get it. You're not a woman." And she rethinks her words. "Or a cross dresser."

"Would you like that?" Ichigo asks, "if I were a cross dresser?" He works his thumbs into the arches of her foot.

"I don't think you have the face for it, honestly," she says. "Your jaw is too square."

"I wouldn't do it anyway," he says.

This is when Renji comes through the doorway. His eyes are squinty and his mouth tight. He growls, "Somebody blew himself up in the subway station." Renji's clothes are tattered and stained with charcoal. His face is smudged with ash, and a million tiny globules of flesh are stuck to his skin. His upper lip curls into a snarl. "A minute before this guy explodes, I get ten more text messages. Ten more people are going to die." He slams the door behind him. "So this maniac explodes and takes the whole damn place with him. I was stuck under sheets of metal and support rods because the damn blast wrecks the fucking ceiling. And then after I finally get out, guess what I've got to do!" And he waits for one of the shinigami to respond.

Rukia says, "what?"

"I've got to look for the bodies. All eleven. And of course, they're buried under every frickin' thing imaginable. And the bomb guy, I reaped him from his teeth. His fucking tooth that hit me in the face, that's what I popped his soul from. I had to dig it out of my cheek!" His arms start waving around. "By the time I'm done there, I've got an undead army behind me. The whole time they're fighting and screaming. I had to pull this one woman off of the bomb guy!" His arms fall to his side, his brows relaxing. "And I took the bus home."

Rukia and Ichigo stare, just staring with these blank faces.

"And you know what else," Renji says. "I've got ten percent body fat."

Rukia hides her smile with a frown. She says, "Renji, don't worry. That's not that much. That's not much at all." And Renji brings a hand over his eyes.

"I'm going to go running. I'm going to take a shower and go running," he says and disappears into the bathroom. Once they hear the water running, Ichigo and Rukia laugh. They laugh their hearts out. They laugh so hard that their abdomens hurt.

Ichigo, he's almost choking. He says, "I had no idea he was concerned about that!" He holds his jerking stomach. "Does he think he's fat?" And Rukia nods, her lips stretched into a smile. "Well, the way he eats, I never would have guessed," he takes a breath of air, "that he," and he laughs, "would care." And he falls back the sofa trying to recover. Rukia grabs his arm.

She says, "let me show you something." And she lifts up a cushion, pawing underneath. In her hands is the slippery paper of a fashion magazine. She flips through the pages, "don't tell him I showed you this."

**7. Memory Jog**

Renji is lying on the floor. His bare stomach pressed against the cool touch. "Did you have a good run?" Ichigo asks from the table. Renji doesn't look up. He's trying to pull the plastic from the top of a yogurt cup. Fat free, only fifty calories. Ichigo, he calls it 'girl yogurt'.

Renji says, "no. It's bloody hot outside." And he licks the yogurt from the shiny lid. It's so watery, so skim, that he drinks it. "I used to know these girls," he says. "That would drink vinegar to shrink their stomachs."

"That's disgusting." Ichigo's feet drum against the floor as he walks over to Renji, and the empty yogurt cup. He sits in front of the man and drops a piece of bacon on the floor. Renji looks at it. It's only an inch from his nose. "Eat it," Ichigo commands, pushing it closer.

Renji pushes himself to his knees. "Don't want it," he says.

"That's impossible," Ichigo scoffs. "You love bacon. You love anything greasy."

"Don't want it."

Ichigo glowers. "Want something else, a doughnut maybe? You have to eat more than _that_. If you want, we can go to Taco Time." Renji snarls and crawls into Ichigo's lap. "Or McDonald's," he says and Renji pushes Ichigo onto the floor. "Or we could go to New York Fries."

"No," Renji says, sitting on Ichigo's waist. He pins the boy underneath him and leans forward.

"Are you serious?" Ichigo says, ignoring Renji's hot breath on his neck. "You don't even want poutine?"

"No, I don't want poutine," he says, his lips moving against the boy's skin. He drags his tongue along Ichigo's lips.

"You know, Renji," Ichigo says. "_This_ doesn't count as a breakfast."

Something bounces off Renji's head. He tears his lips away from Ichigo and swears. "Goddamn it, Renji!" It's Rukia. In her hands are cookies. Yes, three chocolate chip cookies. The fourth, it lies on the floor next to Ichigo's face. The boy reaches up and brushes away its crumbs from Renji's hair. "You always get so horny when you're on a diet!"

"Did you throw a cookie at me?" Renji asks. Rukia blinks. Renji lifts himself off of Ichigo and grabs the cookie from the floor. He shoves it in his mouth and walks into the bathroom.

"Do you think he's angry?" she asks. And Ichigo shrugs. He motions toward the direction in which Renji left.

"He just ate a cookie."

"Yes," Rukia says. "That's almost as weird as you seducing him with talk about fast food." Her phone rings abruptly.

"Mine still hasn't come in yet," Ichigo says, looking at the slim, black phone in Rukia's hands.

"It's my brother," she says.

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah. Looks like you're going to meet him too."

"Is he dead?" he asks carefully.

"Ichigo," she says.

"Yeah?"

"I died in 1938."

"Right," he says. "So he's dead?"

"Yes, quite. Actually," she says. "He's the guy who sends the messages. He's the one who writes down the time and address of all our reaps."

Ichigo pales. "He… decides when… then he wrote down when _I_ died?"

Rukia nods. "Yeah, but he doesn't decide who dies. He just gets the list and writes it all down; and sends it to us, the shinigami."

"You're brother, when's he coming?"

"Tomorrow."

**I AM FILLED WITH RIGHTEOUS ANGER.**

**Also,  
14-17 percent body fat is considered fit for a man. 10 percent borderlines on athletic/ scary athletic.  
Drinking vinegar is more likely to make you sick than help your diet. So don't try it. **

**Review?**


	3. Chapter 3

_Your distaste resource.  
_

**HOUSEHOLD GODS****  
**

**8. Object**

If you ask Ichigo about ghosts, he'll tell you that they're pains in the ass. They're impossible to please. They always have some sort of _last_ request. And it doesn't matter if you tell them it's too late for those. They're dead, and it's too late. They'll just ask anyway. This one ghost, he wants his favor. He wants his last request. That one _last_ right, that one phone call someone else had promised him; he wants it.

He says, "before I go, you just have to do this one thing for me." And he begins his telling, his life story. He spills it. All those dirty secrets you don't want to hear, he puts them all out there. He'd slept with his cousin, the pretty brunette. He couldn't resist and she'd wanted it too. He wasn't to blame. It's not his fault. And his wife's tabby cat, he hated it. So one night he took it to the garage.

He'd told his wife that Gary the cat wasn't at the door that morning. He must be out playing. And each night while his wife slept, he'd go out to the garage with a kitchen knife and hack away a limb. The first night it's Gary's back leg. He brought it into the kitchen, inside a grocery bag. And Gary would leak onto the floor, just a drip here and there. He would put the bag in the sink and rinse off the knife, then he'd get to work. That first night, he put Gary's leg into the In-Sink-Erator. The first time he does this, he's so excited that he doesn't really think it through.

Gary's leg, it's bent at the knee in the drain. His soggy thigh is humped over in the metal sink. So when he reaches for the button and presses it, Gary's leg makes like a typhoon. Gary's radius and ulna, and all those little, bony digits are getting grinded in the disposal. Really, it sounds like you're eating croutons by the handful.

Gary's thigh is spinning around the in sink, thumping around like a suffocating fish. And it's splattering out so high that it paints the ceiling. Above the sink, if you look straight up, there's still little bits of dried Gary. Really, who looks up there anyway?

So the second night, he shoves Gary's other leg right down the tunnel. He runs the sink so that water drains down constantly, and then he presses the button. Gary grinds away, snapping like croutons. This time there's no mess. When he goes back upstairs, he squishes some Purell between his palms and gets back into the bed. He lies next to his wife, his poor, grieving wife; she misses Gary.

He dies in the morning, hit by the garbage truck. Now, walking behind Ichigo he says, "just this one thing. My last request." The cat, Gary the cat, he's still in the garage. He's already dead; bleed out through the shoulders, just a stumpy pile of meat.

His wife, no doubt she'll find it. She'll go into the garage looking for something, anything. Maybe she'll wander in searching for that washing machine he'd sworn he'd fix. It's in there too. That white and rusted machine, what's lying next to it is Gary, dead and sticky Gary. When she finds it, the dead cat, she'll know everything. How he'd chopped him up every night. She'll know that those really long bathroom trips, during the night, weren't bathroom trips. She'll pick up Gary by the head and his body well dangle from side to side. Gary, who looks like he's been slid through a paper shredder, and she'll know everything.

All Ichigo has to do, he says, is sneak into the garage and bury the cat. It won't take much of his time. Just bury the damn cat. Hide it. Wipe the blood. By now it must be just be a black, crusty puddle; he could just sweep it away, all that blood. It's just like black dandruff. Easy.

He'd do it, right? It's just this _one_ thing. His last request.

…

Ichigo walks through the doorway. He shuts the door behind him. On the couch is Rukia watching TV. She says, "Welcome back."

He kicks off his boots. The grooves of the soles are packed with soil. He wiggles his fingers at Rukia and says, "Where's Renji? I got a story that'll top last month's subway explosion." With his brown fingers typing in the air, he says, "You won't believe what I had to do."

"I don't know why you humor those souls, Ichigo," her eyes staring at the television, she says, "You shouldn't be meddling with the living anyway."

His fingers drop.

"That's what you do, don't you?" she asks. "You say goodbye to the lovers they left behind, or you turn the oven off in their house; you set little Ana's alarm so she won't be late for school…"

"I buried a cat."

"Why did you bury a cat?"

"It was his last request."

"There are no last requests when you're already dead."

"I know, but they don't get that."

"So you bury their cats?"

"It was," he frowns, "a one time thing… Do you want me to rub your feet?"

In the morning, Ichigo is squirming in the stale bed. He hears Renji shouting his name from the bathroom. Telling him to come over there for a minute. So he brings his feet over the bed and pads over. Without knocking he pushes open the bathroom door. Renji, he's standing there pointing to the floor, he says, "step."

"It's too early for this," Ichigo says, his voice sleepy, but he gets onto the scale anyway. The two men, they watch that red needle jiggle. Watch it dance over the numbers. Renji is holding his breath as they wait for the pin to settle. And it settles only for a moment before it leaps onto the three hundred pound mark. Renji has his foot on the scale between Ichigo's legs. He pushes down on it hard. "This is bullshit," he says, pressing on the scale and making the needle jump.

"Hey," Ichigo says, yawning. "You'll break it."

"Damn thing's already broken! There's no way you're _that_ much lighter than me!"

"How heavy are you?" and Ichigo yawns again.

Renji's face gets hot, he says, "One hundred and seventy-two pounds."

And Ichigo snorts. "Fatso."

"That's it! I'm going running," and Renji rushes out of the flat. Renji is always running. He's always counting calories. On the table, next to Ichigo's shiny, new mail order phone, is a scrap of paper with Renji's writing. He writes down everything he eats and calculates some number at the end of each day. He calls it his _food journal_. Ichigo, he calls it 'fat diary'.

When Renji's out running, like he always is, Ichigo sits at the table. He grabs the blue pen and changes the numbers on the fat dairy. He makes every three an eight. He just mirrors the three. So now it's eight hundred calories for breakfast instead of three hundred. He draws a circle with eyes and labels it 'Renji'. He does this every morning before he leaves for work. And Rukia just says, "Doesn't that get old?"

And Ichigo always answers, "no."

This morning she sits at the table. She stares across its wooden expanse to look at Ichigo. She says, "What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing," he says, "well except… you know."

And she says, "Maybe, but what's going with you? You seem… down." And really, how honest can he be? Rukia, she looks at him with her big, purple eyes. He'll never let on. He won't tell, not a word. It's private, personal.

He says, "It's just a funk. That's all."

On the bus, the one he takes to work, he stands upright holding onto the roof handle. Out the window he watches the passing city. He sees people, all those people; who are alive and living. He thinks of how badly he wants his life back. Before he'd died, he'd never kissed anyone. He never had a girlfriend. He never had sex.

All these things he hadn't done. He wasn't ready to die, but he did, and Renji had been there too. A stupid, grinning face. A shinigami worried about the percentage of fat in his body. He was there to take Ichigo's soul.

For every grand, life-changing event in your life, there's a person attached to it. When you're born, _life-beginning_, it's your mother. It's your father. It's all those fucking relatives whose names you'll never remember. They're all just a link in the chain of sperm.

When you go to school for the first time, _life-changing_, there's a shitload of attached people. Teachers and their class of brats, lunch ladies and janitors, they're all fucking leeches on your life. Here, at life changing, it's the biggest section of your life. This is where you grow and mature. You'll fall in love and have babies, own a car and have an affair. Then, you butcher your wife's cat. At least, this is how it's supposed to work.

Ichigo, he feels ripped off. He doesn't get to fall in love or have sex. He doesn't even get the money back from the vending machine that crushed him. It's a double rip off. What he gets is an advance pass to _life-ending_. The finale. What he gets is Renji.

When you're fresh off the chopping block, when you're new dead meat, you're desperate for a friend. You need that person to attach to your life changing event, your _life-ending_. For Ichigo, this person is Renji.

When you die, you're the most alone you've ever been. You just aren't ready for it. Not even those old people who _want_ to die are ready for it. You can wait for death, but you're never _ready_ for it. It's like culture shock. Not even photographs can prepare you.

You see pictures of the Taj Mahal and you fly on a plane to India. You may even know the history of the Madhya Pradesh, but as soon as you get off that plane, it's too much. It's too bright; too fantastic. Culture shock. Maybe you manage to adjust. Maybe you covert to Hinduism and wear a pure silk lehnga cholis; but as soon as you've got to use the bathroom, and you're directed to a ditch, culture shock. You just aren't ready.

When Ichigo looked up to that bright, grinning face, he wasn't ready. He'd said, 'that's not fair.' Give me my life back. But that redheaded prick, he just shook his head and for Ichigo, it was an instant attachment.

Ichigo, latched onto the leech of his _life-ending_.

His dead life revolves around the man who started it, around Renji, because when you're alone and shocked, you need a leech. You need that one person to attach to the too big event. And without even meaning to, you're obsessed.

Everything relates to the leech. You need him. You can't be dead without him. You're so attached that you fall in love without actually falling in love. So in love you just touch to touch- because he's all you think about. He's all you know.

Without him, you can't be dead.

…

Ichigo works the nine to five. All day he's at the community center setting tables. He folds the napkins into tight origami, sets the forks by the knives and polishes the wine glasses. One hundred and fifty tables, all set by three o'clock.

As he takes the bus home, turning onto the street of the stolen flat, he sees Renji running on the sidewalk. The bus, it can't even catch up with him. By the time Ichigo reaches the front doors of the building, Renji's nowhere in sight.

He's already up in the flat, showering. Models. Rukia, she's on the sofa watching TV again. Without taking her eyes off the screen, she says to Ichigo, "Welcome back." And with a nod Ichigo heads into the kitchen. This how it begins.

In a few moments Rukia well escort herself out the door, and the front desk well receive a noise complaint.

Ichigo, he's reaching into the fridge. He gets a good grip on the cool, glass jar of preservatives. The water of the shower stops and Ichigo gives the lid a twist. His fingers slip around in a full rotation. The lid doesn't budge.

Behind the sofa, Rukia hears Ichigo's thudding footsteps. He marches across the room with the jar in his hand and opens the door to the bathroom with the other. She hears Renji yell, "Knock first, you moron."

And Ichigo starts screaming back. The lid on the jam; it's too tight. He knows that it's Renji's doing. Knows it.

Renji says, "I don't eat jam!" And he doesn't, too much sugar. A _non-food_.

It doesn't matter if he doesn't eat it. It's still him.

Renji yells, "How do you figure that?"

He must go around and tighten them all while no one is looking. It's obvious. He's looking to get back at everyone. He's angry and this how he expresses himself. Tightening the lids so tight that no one can open them.

Renji wraps himself in a towel, he says, "and why would I do that, eh? Why target the goddamn jam jars?"

Because he thought he could get away with it; because it's _so_ low key, no one would say anything. Oh, and because it's fucking annoying and that's all he's good at, being fucking annoying.

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

Well, if he actually listened to himself, like _actually_ listened, he'd have to say that that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Everything he says is stupid. He's stupid _and_ he's tightening the lids.

Rukia gets up from the couch and excuses herself.

Renji, he shouts, "What's your problem, huh?" He jabs Ichigo in the chest, he says, "I got all the time in the world, but I still wouldn't waste my time tightening lids on your fucking jam jars. I have better things to do than try to get your attention."

Oh, like running? Like confiding in the fat dairy? Like acting like a fucking chick? What, no, he'd rather get slathered in makeup and hair shit and primp in front of cameras. Stripping for the entire nation. Real productive. _Real_ _manly_.

Renji takes in a breath. He presses his forehead against the medicine cabinet and lets the air hiss out of his lungs. "Get out," he says.

What?

"Get out."

Who does he think he is? He can't—

And Renji shouts, angry and hateful, "get out."

Ichigo, for a moment, is stunned. He places the jar on the sink and leaves quietly, albeit furiously. Rukia passes him in the hall and then she steps into the flat. "Yeah," she says, "I talked to the guys at the front desk." She's back on the sofa. "So if you're not quiet while I watch _The Days of Our Lives_, they'll get cops up here. That is, _cops_ at _your stolen_ flat. Got it?"

Yeah. He got it.

**9. Post Cognition **

The rain beats down on his head. It's a wet night in Canon City and you're a rising star. Your face is plastered on billboards, your stomach is pasted into magazines and your crotch is broadcasted on television. Probably, if you look inside the lockers of highschoolers, your photo is taped up.

You're so renowned. You're so hot. Just look at you; but that's it. Walking down the road alone, just look. He walks on ahead, those designer sneakers becoming more and more soaked. He's thinking, what a beautiful day. He's so hopped up on Vicodins that he's practically numb with enjoyment. The dark storm feels just like warm hot jets on that moisturized and waxed skin. He opens his palms into the speedy rainfall; the wet drops smack against his manicured hand.

And he walks until the road and grass become just gravel and rock. He's thinking about who he is. He _is_ sex. On the covers, on the pages, on the signs, he is sex. In front of that camera, you're not thinking about trying to be sexy; you're thinking about sex. You think about that girl from last night. How you were humping and sighing. You think about rough grabs and mouths going everywhere. To that camera you're just sex. And when they look at your picture, those editors and photographers, what they see are themselves getting laid.

Caught in your eyes is that left over pleasure. They look at it and want you. They want sex. They pay for it in their books and movies. When they're stuck in traffic, they pay to see sex painted on the billboards. There's you, almost naked, and presented to the public. While they swear toward the vehicles ahead of them, they're looking at you and getting themselves off. They get so hard and wet looking at you. This is what they pay for. This why you drive a Porsche and have a fake hair color.

He puts one soggy foot ahead of the other. Heel to toe. He walks along the edge, so high up over the gorge. And he's swaying all over the place, but he thinks he's in control. Nothing can harm him. His world is painless.

He'd say he has never been happier. Since he stopped eating bread, since he ostracized pasta, he's never felt better. His head is so light and his stomach so empty. And he's never been healthier. He's so content with his life. There's nothing more to want.

What's so special about a family, or love, or doughnuts? Fuck that. He didn't need them. Waking up in the morning with strangers is just fine. He didn't need commitment or gatherings. He didn't need to know he was loved. He was adored and that was enough. He had money and that was enough.

He grips onto the metal cord, stretched taut across the steel frame of the Royal Gorge Bridge. Looking down into the canyon he says, "God?" And it doesn't even echo. Nothing.

He says, "God if your down there," and takes a breath, "you really fucked things up for me." His red hair flies over the edge, soft tresses tugging him forward. A step and he'll pummel into the gorge. "But," he says, "I'm willing to forgive you. I'll be the bigger man here." He stares down into the dark, his belly stuffed with painkillers. He doesn't feel a thing. He says, "I just wanted you to know. Oh, and did you see the new board off River street? I looked pretty damn good, eh?"

And he steps over the edge.

**10. Hegemony **

When Ichigo gets home from work, there's a splash of blood on his jacket. He says, "Axe murder on Wing Street. I caught the head like a football. It was an automatic reaction."

"Welcome home," Rukia says with her eyes on the television.

"Where's Renji?" He asks and glances around the flat, watching a hefty weight roll next to the bed.

"If he's not in the kitchen, then he's running."

There's a knock at the door. Ichigo looks at Rukia. "You think it's the owner?"

Rukia says, "the owner wouldn't knock. He'd have a key."

So Ichigo opens the door. His brows press into a scowl. "I suppose you want to come in?" he says and the dark haired man glares.

He says, "if you wouldn't mind." And Ichigo steps aside. Rukia jumps off the couch and embraces the man.

"Brother," she says. "How are you? What brings you here?"

"Work," he says. "A contact in Berlin, but I thought I'd stop by first." Ichigo's eyes follow the man. "You look well." And Rukia nods. "And Ichigo, you look the same."

"You too," he says, watching, staring.

Byakuya smiles. Looking at Rukia, he says, "And how's Renji? Where is he?"

"Not here," Ichigo says over Rukia.

"Out running," she says, looking at her brother. "Who knows when he'll be back? You know how he is. I could call him?"

"No, don't worry about it. I wouldn't want to bother him," he smiles.

"Let's have some tea," Rukia says, hopping into the kitchen. The men follow and sit across from each other, a staring contest. "So, brother, tell us about your trip here."

"It was uneventful," he says. "But I suppose I should tell you, we've predicted an upsurge in human fatalities. So be prepared for an increase in appointments."

"What is it?" Ichigo says, "weather?"

"Death works like a math equation, Ichigo," he says. He opens his hand, "on one side, you have the living," he opens the other, "and on the other side, you have the dead. Both sides must be equal at all times or the equation is unbalanced." He puts his palms together. "So when one side gets heavy, it's a simple matter of _balancing_ it out."

"Addition and subtraction, huh?" Ichigo muses. "Is that how you see people? As numbers in your grand equation?"

"No. It's just how a _God_ sees the world."

Rukia puts two mugs on the table. "I don't like tea," she says and pushes the cups toward the men. "Thanks for the advance notice, brother. I'll pass it on to Renji. You know he'll be mad about it." And she laughs, "he's so apathetic."

"Yes," Byakuya says, touching the warm mug. "I know."

…

Renji, this night, he doesn't come home and no one is entirely surprised. Byakuya, he says, "it's becoming quite late and I have a plane to catch come morning. I should go."

Rukia kissing him on the cheek, she says, "Visit soon." He nods to Ichigo and walks out the door. They listen to his light footsteps down the hall. Ichigo swallows.

He says, "I know he's your brother and everything, but I can't stand him."

"I know."

"There's something going on between him and Renji."

"I know."

"This the second time he's visited and Renji's been nowhere in sight. It's like he just disappears off the planet."

"I-"

"-_You_ know? I know."

Rukia lies down on the bed. "He'll be back in the morning, probably. Ichigo…" and her voice fades. He sits next to her on the mattress. "Renji… he's special to you?" Her voice is careful but unreserved.

"As if," the boy says, his face in a scowl. Renji is the leech of his _life-ending_. He is the person attached to the too big event; without him, he cannot be dead. Ichigo, he's _obsessed_ with Renji.

"I think Renji is… _special _to my brother." Rukia's eyes watch the TV from the corner. The light is reflected in her eyes. Without looking at him, she says, "do you understand?"

And the fan rattles on the nightstand.

…

Renji sits on a wooden park bench. He blows into his hands and rubs them together. The cold is bitter. He sticks his finger into his mouth, letting his hot saliva defrost it. He has nowhere to go. He cannot go home.

He thinks about crawling into that stale bed, worming inside the covers between Ichigo and Rukia. On the nights he couldn't get to sleep, he would _squirm_ as Ichigo called it. He would kick his feet into the sheets and nudge the boy with his arms. Sometimes he would blow on his soft, orange tresses or bite the boy's ears. Ichigo, he would huff and eventually wake up. He would make an ugly face and say, "knock it off."

Of course this was only encouragement. Renji would wait for the boy to doze, and then he'd slap him on his stomach or his sides. On some nights he would shake the boy awake again. Ichigo would stare at him, completely dumbfounded. He'd say, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

Renji, he'd respond that he couldn't sleep. Often, during these nights, Rukia would migrate to the sofa.

Sitting on the park bench, Renji folds his hands together. He rocks back and forth as his white breath dissipates into the dark. Another night he couldn't sleep, too afraid to go home. Fear, shining bright and ordinary.

Behind him, he hears light footsteps. Perhaps night patrolmen coming to shoo him, but this is wishful thinking. Behind him is not anyone alive. Renji knows this. Coming towards him is Byakuya Kuchiki. The ghost he couldn't forget, his haunted memory. The unwelcome face on the Royal Gorge Bridge, telling him he was dead.

An arm comes around Renji's neck and Byakuya says, "I found you."

And Renji says, "yeah."

The air of the motel room warms Renji's skin. Byakuya shuts the door behind him, he says, "I have to be up early tomorrow." The light bulb on the ceiling shines dimly. Renji sits on a large bed and watches as the other man walks toward him. He kneels between Renji's knees.

Renji says, "don't. Leave me alone." A mouth comes onto his neck and he's pushed under Byakuya. He stares at the light, he says, "stop," but the mouth keeps moving. It keeps sucking. A tongue slides down his chest, his shirt already discarded. A hand fondling between his legs and Renji says again, "Don't. Stop."

Byakuya just ignores him. He always says this and it means nothing. He says, "Renji, get on your knees." And Renji just lies there. Teeth sink into his shoulder, he says, "I want you on your knees."

Renji, looking up at the ceiling, he says, "go to hell." And now his face is sinking into the sheets, Byakuya's hand at the back of his head. His body flipped, stomach pressing against the bedding. Renji breathes in the small threads of the sheets, sucking for air. On his lower back, he can feel Byakuya's hips. Again he says, "don't." He says, "stop."

Fingers curl around his throat, a voice at his ear says, "you want this. You want to be fucked so bad you can't stand it." You can smell the lube coating the other man's dick. You can smell the musk in his hair and you already feel everything that's about to happen. He says, "don't you?"

And Renji fists the sheets. He hides his face from the man and says nothing. Byakuya, he says, "You don't really want me to stop." The tip of his head fitting into Renji, he says, "You want this." And Renji hisses as the man presses into him. A hand snakes between his belly and the sheets, lifting him onto his knees. Renji grabs onto the headboard, his grip damp and sweating. He clenches his jaw tight, Byakuya slamming into him from behind. The man's voice whispering, "this is what you want. You want this."

You hate yourself so much as this man brings you to your climax, his hard dick sliding in and out of you. Hate yourself, because you don't want him to stop.

…

"Oh," Ichigo says, his hand around the door handle. "Look who decided to come home." Renji pushes past the boy and heads straight for the bed. He burrows underneath the stale sheets. "Hey! Aren't you even going to say hello?"

Rukia heads out the door. "I'll be back by two. I have to watch _Young and the Restless_." Her heels echo as she walks down the hallway. Ichigo shuts the door. He sits next to Renji.

"Hey," he says and Renji says nothing. "You have so much explaining to do," he says softly, but Renji doesn't respond. "Tomorrow. Or now."

Renji says, "Check my cell for me?"

"Already did," he says. "One appointment at 15:08:01. John Street." Ichigo presses his lips together. "Where did you go?" he asks, letting out a breath, "last night?"

"The park," Renji says, his voice muffled by the bed sheets. Ichigo sighs, running two fingers into the man's damp, red hair. It smells of shampoo, of conditioner.

He says, "you showered before you came here." And that's all he needs to say. He lifts himself from the bed and says, "I'm heading off to work." Renji doesn't say good-bye and Ichigo heads out the door.

…

On John Street at 3341, a store is having its logo replaced. Trucks are stationed in front of its automatic doors, orange pylons directing you around the construction. People are walking in and out. All the while this man is drilling up the letter 'S'.

Renji stands beside the truck. In a minute someone is going to die, probably violently. He looks at the newly fashioned letters and thinks, hazard. A few seconds to go and this large man carrying a bag of kitty litter steps out the door. Renji thinks, this is it. He starts moving.

Above his head, a drilled letter loosens. It tears from the wall and the guy with the kitty litter gets pancaked by the letter 'E'. The logo, it reads, P TS. His soul stands empty handed next to Renji, he says, "fucking fantastic."

Renji puts his arm around the soul's shoulder and says, "alright. Are we ready?" And they walk around the orange pylons.

**Please do not review _unless_ you have something constructive to say.**

**Thank you.**


	4. Chapter 4

_This story contains OFFENSIVE material... and fan service.  
_

**HOUSEHOLD GODS  
**

**11. Pale**

Sitting on the toilet, using it like a chair, Ichigo just watches Renji in the shower. His golden amber eyes staring back, he says, "I bled a bit."

He says, "I never bleed."

Ichigo's lips pull to the side and he asks, "why another tattoo?" In the shower, Renji lets the hot water roll onto his back. It washes away the petroleum jelly. It leaks between the dips and curves of his spine. Ichigo watches from the toilet. He looks onto the weaving flesh of the man's stomach. It's rippled and hard, unlike his own thin, boyish belly.

Renji tells him that a shower is the best thing you can do for a tattoo. Once the buzzing of the needles stop and you're skin is covered with petroleum jelly, you pose for your picture and go home into the shower. A hot water soak, it's the best thing for a new tattoo. He says, "I needed another reminder."

And Ichigo asks, "of what?"

"Of myself."

Ichigo's nose wrinkles, he says, "you're a little vain, aren't ya?"

The hot water stops falling onto his back and he wraps a towel around his waist. "With tattoos," he says, "I can stop pretending. I can be me."

Ichigo clicks his tongue. He reaches and pinches Renji's side, "you lost some meat," and Renji pats his stomach.

"You think?"

Ichigo nods his head forward.

"I keep dreaming about pizza," he says. "It's insane. Like every night in every dream, I'm eating pizza."

Ichigo says, "what kind of pizza?"

Renji, in the main room, he looks out the window and into the sky. Ichigo watches close behind. "When the souls pass on," he says staring into the clouds, "do you think they all go to the same place?" Ichigo hands him a shirt. "I don't," Renji says. "I think there are millions of different after lives."

"One for every person? I don't think there's enough space for that."

"My after life," Renji says, "maybe it'll be a pizza parlor. All day, every day, just pizza."

"That's a stupid after life."

"Why?"

"Eating pizza for eternity?"

"Yeah," he slips the shirt over his shoulders.

"That's lame. What makes you think that it'll stay one thing _forever _anyway? What if it's a changing cycle? Like this life."

"If it's like here," Renji says, "then it ain't no _ethereal_ after life. Passing on, it has to be… _heavenly_, you know?"

"But what if it's not?"

And Renji smirks. "Deep dish pepperoni and cheese."

"What?"

Renji sniffs and shakes out his damp hair, "that's the kind of pizza I keep dreaming about."

Watching him, Ichigo thinks; will Renji pass on? Can he? What if tomorrow Renji has passed on into that after life pizza parlor- the one open _after_ after hours? What would Ichigo do?

What _could_ he do?

"Renji," he says and the man looks up from the bed. His hair is damp and tangled and sticking to the skin on his chest. "When you reaped my soul," and Ichigo stares at him, "you said if I was lonely-"

"Yeah," Renji interrupts. "I remember." He waves a hand into the air.

"I don't want _family_, Renji."

And Renji looks up. His brows furrowed, not understanding. Ichigo sits next to him. The mattress dips and creaks. He speaks to speak, saying, repeating, "you don't want…?"

"What I want," Ichigo says, "is my life back."

Renji grins. He says, "Can't have that back." And Ichigo looks to the floor.

He says, "I was fifteen. I never did anything."

"Doesn't do you any good," Renji whispers, "to live a life of regret. Won't do you good either to be dead and regret it."

Ichigo mumbles, looking at the rumbling fan, "I never _did _anything."

He never had sex.

Renji rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb, saying, "you aren't dead yet, Ichigo." The corner of his mouth lifts, "not really."

And Ichigo laughs. He says, "idiot." His bottom lip curling under his teeth, he feels Renji next to him. An unwelcome thought nudges him in the head. Ichigo, he thinks _touch me_. His eyes shut, he tells himself to do something, to move. Ichigo says, "I have to work soon."

Renji nods. "Of course."

The fan shakes on the nightstand, blowing around the hot air. Ichigo leans onto his knees thinking touch me. His head is crammed full, stuffed to the corners with feelings of Renji; all he knows. His face behind his palms, and he thinks touch me.

"You okay?" Renji says, placing a hand on the boy's knee. Touch. Falling backward, pressed against the bed; Renji's eyes are stretched open. He looks up at Ichigo on top of him, Ichigo holding him down.

Ichigo saying, "Help me live." His bottom lip shiny from chewing it, he deigns; and Renji's eyes, shiny with fear- bright and ordinary. With Ichigo's breath at his neck, he thinks Ichigo well have to leave for work soon. Soon, he well take the bus and set tables. Lips are brushing against his. The boy's thin, dry lips mouthing, "please."

And Renji kisses him. His tongue slides up the roof of Ichigo's mouth. The touch of his soft lips pressed against the boy's. Spit gathers at the corners. Ichigo's hand leaves Renji's wrist and curls behind his neck, lifting and kissing deeper. He wants to feel Renji's skin. Contact. He wants more contact. Fisting Renji's shirt, he says, "take this off."

Renji says hotly, "_you_ take it off."

Ichigo's hands, now under Renji's shirt, are rolling over his ribs. The boy's mouth is like suction on his neck, a moist vacuum moving over the cords of muscle. And now his shirt is off, tossed on the floor. Renji reaches up with practiced hands. His graze could be anyone's, touching anyone.

Moving; kissing; Ichigo, reacting. The boy breaks away. He says, "come on." His hands are eager, slipping under the waistband of Renji's pants. Renji's hand comes gently around Ichigo's wrist, tugging it away.

"Relax," Renji says. Ichigo's jaw clenches under the hot skin of his face. Blood filling his cheeks, he swallows hard. He's ready for this. Renji, as he rights himself over top of Ichigo, is thinking he'll never change. He'll always be this way. No matter how many tattoos or calories he eats at the end of each day; he's the same.

Inside him, he thinks, there are a billion different selves. He can be anything. He's turned everyone into a camera. Every person, a camera, ready to point and shoot at him. And he's always there, ready; posing; smiling. He makes himself into whatever you want. So why does he do it? How can he change?

Ichigo's ankles are in the air, his heels nudging Renji in the back. Red hair falls onto his chest. He looks up at Renji, into those deep, exotic eyes. Ichigo, he feels awkward. Renji, smiling, he says, "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." And his generous lips curl higher to one side.

There's a burning in Ichigo's gut. It spreads like a burst of fire under his skin. It tingles under Renji's hands. In his mind, he's playing out the next few moments. His breath is ragged and nervous. Renji, still grinning, brings his mouth onto Ichigo's chest.

Ichigo hands are running over Renji's back, desperate to touch. Their bodies melting together, Renji whispers, "ready?" And he feels the boy's heels dig further into his back.

Ready.

…

Ichigo wakes in the evening. He leaves Renji alone in the bed. _Only me_; this is what he wants to say to Renji. Don't have sex with anyone but _me_. I'm all you need now. Forget everyone else. _Now_, it's exclusively me.

Looking back to the bed, he sees Renji naked and curled under the sheets.

And he thinks, only me.

**12. Youth**

Karakura Town has a serial killer.

Everyone in town is talking about it. About how every Saturday morning that missing kid's body turns up, although you can hardly recognize it. It's always a pretty kid from the same neighborhood, the rich neighborhood. And every time, the kid's parents offer to dish out cash for their return.

Would _you_ kill a kid worth ten grand? No ambitious person would; but a psychopath doesn't care about the money. He just wants to rip up the kid.

Each week, the murders get more gruesome. The killer gets more adventurous. This Saturday, they had to spoon the kid into a dozen plastic bags. Peeling intestines off a tree, the detective says, "I can't tell if this is brains or lasagna."

When the parents are brought into the office, the mother dabs her tear ducts with a tissue. She pats it dry before the water can cause her make-up to run. She sniffs and the diamonds in her ears rattle. She says, "How can Lindsey be dead?"

Lindsey, the lasagna in the evidence room's freezer, was such a bright and cheerful kid. Why did she have to die? This murdering bastard, she says, you better catch him.

The whole town is talking about it. Talking about the new kid who got shredded this Saturday. They found him in the neighborhood park with staples jutting out from his belly. It was a poor patch job. The thin metal staples, you could buy them at any Office Depot.

The detective, he starts tracking receipts from every office supplier in town, but it's futile. It's just a way to pass the time, just something to tell Lindsey's mother. "We have a promising lead," he'd say and finger the keyboard. After he hangs up, he gets a phone call from forensics. They found something interesting. Something note worthy.

"This kid's guts," they say, "they've all been rearranged." The abdominal aorta has been completely severed. Attached to the kid's kidney, is his colon. These tiny, thin staples, they're reshuffling his entire digestive system. The common iliac artery is like a staple-toothed snake latched onto the kid's spleen. He says, "the only time I've ever come close to making a mess like this," his voice is like static on the phone, "is when I tried to steal my neighbor's cable."

The detective, he says, "send me the pictures."

Renji and Ichigo are sitting in a booth at Subway. Ichigo, he calls it 'Chubway.' Renji sinks his teeth into a dry, brown veggie sub. Chewing, he says, "I got Friday's reap this week."

And Ichigo grunts, "Sorry, dude."

"I can't wait 'til they catch the creep," he says, lettuce rolling around in his mouth. "I haven't watched _The Late Show_ in ages."

"You watched it last night."

"Yeah," he says, "but I meant on _Friday_ nights." He puts the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. "That creep's up all night dicing those kids, and I gotta wait around 'til they kick it. The whole time, I'm just thinking about Letterman. By the time I get home, it's already over! Rukia is sleeping on the couch and everything."

Ichigo chews, he says, "you're the most self-absorbed person I've ever met." And he smiles. Looking at Renji's frowning lips, Ichigo laughs. Some soggy food drops out of his mouth. "Don't pout," he says, "it's unbecoming." Renji wrinkles his nose.

He says, "idiot."

Ichigo; he's really the only person who could adore Renji. He's the only person more obsessed with Renji _than_ Renji. He nudges Renji's thigh with his knee, saying, "I miss you on those nights." Ichigo grins and winks, still chewing.

Renji's brows lift, he says, "quickie in the bathroom?"

And Ichigo points to his sandwich, "after my sandwich."

All the rich mothers are talking about whose kid will be next. Their bets are on Lucy, the pretty blonde with pigtails. The one who skips in her driveway every evening. Her mother's face, the entire time, is watching from the window. Little Lucy, just skipping, she's next.

They say it'll happen in the morning. When her mother is stretching herself out during her AM yoga class. Nobody in the neighborhood is as flexible as Lucy's mother. Lucy's mother, they call her '_The Pretzel_'.

They all know that Lucy's mother's breasts are fake. Just silicon; like her lips. Every piece of her, even her perfect toes, all fake. Their husbands, they always offer to mow Lucy's mother's lawn. They always sweep her driveway and move her furniture. All the husbands want a go with The Pretzel.

Mowing her lawn, they watch her practicing yoga in her sunroom. Through the large, shiny windows they watch The Pretzel bring her ankle to her ear. They watch her hips bend and pop. She reaches to wrap her arms around her calves, and now they're mowing her lawn with a hard-on. Sometimes they'll stop in front of the window, just behind the front stairs, and press their crotch against the shaking handle of the lawnmower. They watch The Pretzel as she presses her belly to the floor and lifts her breasts off with her elbows. The cobra. That's what the yoga position is called. The husbands love that one. They'll watch from behind the stairs, grinding into the handles and letting their imagination soar. Staring at The Pretzel's ass, they imagine they're sinking into it. They're ramming into her ass.

Behind them, in the driveway, pretty Lucy is skipping.

…

In the bathroom, in the last stall in the men's washroom, Renji and Ichigo are sucking face, soul kissing. Ichigo is pressed up against the aluminum walls, the toilet paper dispenser digging into the back of his leg. Renji lifts Ichigo's knee up to his hip; in his mouth, Renji asks, "How do you want me?"

Ichigo's hands are pressed flat against the man's torso, tracing over the firm mounds. He just groans. All around him, in every direction, there's Renji. Maybe it's a limb or his hair or his mouth, but either way Renji surrounds him. It's like imagination; like never in your wildest dreams come true.

And straight from your imaginations, he's asking you, "How do you want me?"

Her Husband didn't come for dinner that evening. He called at five o'clock from The Pretzel's house. He said he was sorry; he was still fixing The Pretzel's phone line. He expected to be home late. The damn phone just doesn't seem to want to work.

Well imagine that, she had said and hung up. On the caller ID, The Pretzel's phone number blinked. She says, "Fucking moron. Stupid, lying bastard."

She says to her son, "your father is the turd o'the world." This makes her son laugh and she says, "now go to bed." And he trots up the stairs in his dino pajamas.

Her nails are lacquered in a deep, wine colored red. Long strands of her copper bangs stick to the creases of her eyelid. She pushes the strands of hair over her brow with her long, trim fingers. Then she dials her neighbor, Ann.

She says, "Ann, has your husband come home from his business trip in Paris?"

And Ann says, not 'til Sunday.

So she says, "that's what I was hoping to hear."

Ann says she has been hoping to hear that his plane had drowned in the Atlantic Ocean.

"Ann," she says, "what are you doing this Friday night?"

And Ann says, "I thought you'd never come around."

Ichigo is breathing through his mouth. His hands are glued to the sides of Renji's face. He can feel Renji's thigh rubbing between his legs and he says, "I want," and then a billion images pour into his head. Ichigo starts unbuttoning his pants. Renji smiles to one side.

His lips speak against Ichigo neck, saying, "Oh, I see." And his voice hums against the boy's skin. Renji brings his mouth onto Ichigo's neck, sucking enough to leave a mark before getting onto his knees. Kneeling in front of Ichigo, his breath like an itchy tickle on the boy's groin, Renji laughs and says, "tasty."

Ichigo says, "That's not funny."

And Renji smiles wider, looking up and laughing louder. He leans forward and bites Ichigo on the thigh. He says, "Yummy."

Ichigo's face scrunches up. He says, "I was _so_ into you a minute ago."

"And now?"

"Not so much."

Renji licks the under side of Ichigo's phallus. His fingers rubbing the way you'd scratch a cat under its chin. Sucking the side of Ichigo's head, Renji pulls away and says, "liar." Then he draws the entirety into his mouth.

Ichigo's hands are at the sides of Renji's head, gripping him like a ball. Strands of red hair are tangled around his finger. He watches Renji's head dip close then pull away. He watches those generous lips moving quickly and deftly around his dick. That gorgeous mouth draws him in deep and hard, taking him right into his throat.

Spit seeps around Renji's lips, glistening in the corners; and Ichigo starts pulling. He starts lifting his back from the aluminum walls and pressing into Renji's throat. Renji can hear the boy swearing and sighing. Renji, he's thinking it's hard to breath when Ichigo does this.

Ichigo, staring at the ceiling, looks into the fluorescent lights. Everything is just feeling too good. He doesn't want it to end yet, so he starts thinking about anything to stop from shooting his load. He thinks about Gary the cat; how he was just a pile of slimy bones in the corner of the garage, webbed together like a half eaten turkey.

…

Friday evening, Lucy didn't come home from school. Her mother, The Pretzel, is worried sick. She asks a mother, has she seen Lucy?

And the mother says, "Oh honey! She's probably dead in a gutter by now!"

Everywhere, in every store around the neighborhood, Lucy's face is posted. This night, The Pretzel doesn't do yoga. She waits in the porch, chewing her fake nails and clutching a missing poster of Lucy. All the Husbands are crowded around her house. They say, "Don't worry. I'll help find your daughter." And they put up more posters.

All the wives have put their own children to bed. Their husbands, out putting posters up, are not home; and so the wives gather at Ann's. One mother, in Ann's basement, is wearing a dark cloak. She hands another to _the new one_. She says, "sorry, I got a bit of bleach on this one."

_The new one_ looks at Ann, who is saying, "It's so you don't get dirty, honey." So _the new one_ puts on the cloak, her dark wine nails peeking through. Her coppery hair falls over her new dark shoulders.

And she says, "girls night in."

Renji is flipping through his cell phone. It's the day of Friday's reap and Renji is strolling along the usual path. Clicking through screens, the text message pops up. It read familiarly.

The address never changes. The murders, they're always in the same house, in the same neighborhood and with the same creep tearing apart the little kids. And Renji is always walking down this same street. He does it almost every Friday. Once he gets to the same house, he sits in the shrubs that cling to the sides. He props himself in front of the basement window and waits. He waits for the kid to die, so he can reap his soul and maybe make it home in time to watch Lettermen.

Tonight, the leafy branches are crawling under his shirt. He scratches and peers into the window. He can hear the muffled voices.

A woman's voice, it says, "now Lucy. Don't you cry! What would your mother say?" And the small kid is gnawing on the fabric stretched across her mouth, the fabric that is stained dark with tears. And the voice continues, "Lucy," she says. "This is for the best. You know, you'll just grow up to be a whore. Yes, Lucy, a whore."

Renji watches the dark figure pace around the kid. The muffled voice keeps leaking quietly through the window. The entire neighborhood is quiet, he thinks. It's like nobody is home.

The woman's voice says, "Do you know what a _whore_ is, Lucy?" And the kid shakes her head and cries. "Do you know what a _penis_ is, Lucy?" The kid shakes her head again. "Oh come on Lucy. You've got to know what a penis is. Well, I'll just remind you. It's Daddy's hotdog."

Renji plugs headphones into his cell phone. He fits the tiny speakers into his ears and uploads a play list. The melody beats in his ears and he sits, leaning against the cool cement of the house and looking into the stars. To keep the shrub from creeping up his shirt, he sits on the damn plant. Its leafy arms are crushed under his ass. He settles in for the long night.

The woman's voice, she says, "Lucy. When you grow up, you'll be eating every man's hotdog because you're a little whore." The woman smiles. "Aren't you? Lucy, aren't you a whore?" The little girl keeps crying; her nose runs. Snot trails down her chin. "You're so disgusting, Lucy. Do you know you're going to die? I'm going to kill you."

The kid starts thrashing, screaming into the wet fabric. 'Don't kill me' is what she is yelling. 'I'm sorry' are the words that aren't coming out clear. She'll try not to be whore. She's sorry, so don't hurt her. Please.

"Lucy," she says, "before I kill you, I'm going to make you virtuous again. We'll make you into a lovely, innocent girl. When you die, you won't be a whore. We'll make you beautiful." And in her hand, a tiny knife gleams, catching the dim light of an electronic candle.

Renji is holding onto his knees. He knows not to look, but he does anyway. He peeks into the basement.

The little girl, Lucy with the blonde pigtails, is taped into a chair. Her head is tilted toward the ceiling and bright blood is flowing down her neck. Her cheeks have been cut out.

Under the surface of her cheekbones, Renji can see the kid's gums and teeth. Beside the girl's feet, is her small squishy lips turning black. The girl, although he can't hear, is sobbing. He watches as the dark figure stops in front of her. It reaches, and pinches down on the girl's tongue. Then the hand slides into the girl's mouth. The girl, her eyes are almost popping out of her head as this hand reaches down her throat. Renji doesn't hear, but the girl is gurgling.

Lucy's jaw is snapped in half, her chin dangling over her cherry colored neck. An arm slithers down her esophagus, stretching it too extremely and causing it to spilt apart. Lucy gurgles, and blood dribbles onto her lap.

The woman, she clenches her fist around something deep down in Lucy's gut. Lucy, who snorts and tries to breath, isn't even shaking anymore. The arm down her throat starts to retreat, but it takes something with it. And now, in front of this little girl's face is her small intestine. The fleshy cord is being pulled out of her mouth.

Pulling out Lucy's innards, to the woman, is just like unraveling a sweater by a thread. Lucy, she thinks, is just her mother's _favorite_ sweater. The woman, the dark figure, she's just unraveling a sweater.

The long, stretchy guts are coiling by the woman's feet and soon Lucy stops gurgling. The kid just slumps over, her ribs leaning onto her hips. Her head falls forward and between her teeth is a jelly cord of intestine.

Renji is holding onto the phone so tightly his knuckles blanche. His eyes are wide and wet. He peels his fist off the phone. This is fucking crazy, he thinks and flips the phone open. His fingers are trembling, but he dials anyway. He tells himself to stop, to not dial _that_ number. You can't dial _that_ number. It's against the rules- these unwritten rules.

He dials that number.

After a few minutes, he climbs into the basement through the window. The women, the wives, they're in the next room getting their mops. Renji looks at the kid. She stands next to him, just as pretty as she was when she was alive. Her cheeks are wet from old tears. She says, "Shinigami," and her lips curl, "what the _fuck_ is a _whore?!_"

And sirens whine in the background.

_That_ number.

**13. Mix **

Rukia got a call on her phone.

Sitting at the table, all three jumped at the shrill ringing of the black phone.

It never rings.

No one calls the black phone.

Rukia swallows. In her head, there's a thought she's trying to push away. Don't hope, she tells herself. You are not about to pass on. You aren't. So don't hope. And she grabs the phone as it screams in her hand. She looks at Renji.

Renji is fucking terrified. He stares at the black phone. He wants to shout, 'don't answer it!' a ball of guilt rolls in his stomach. He'd broken the unwritten rule and now everything is breaking apart. Like dominoes, the rules are knocking each other out.

Rukia flips it open and presses it to her ear. She whispers, "Hello?" And then she frowns. After a minute, she shuts the phone.

Ichigo's fork is frozen in mid air, the stabbed tomato already dropping back onto the plate. And he asks, "Who was it?"

Rukia says, "The black phones cannot be phoned." She says, "The black phones have no phone number." She places the phone next to her plate. "You don't phone the black phone."

Ichigo says, "then how do you get the text messages every day?"

And Rukia says, "Magic." She looks at her plate. "God," she says, "is the absence of science. Death, is a fairy-tale."

Ichigo hears Renji breath in sharply. Renji says, "This is my fault." He holds his head saying, "My god, Rukia! Who was on the fucking phone?"

And her lips part, "Byakuya," she says. "It was my brother."

**Stick around for the final Chapter of Household Gods.**

**Coming up next.**

**Don't miss the drama. **

**I'm rolling my eyes too, don't worry.**

**This story's stats as of SEPT/8/07...  
chapter **wordcount/reviews/hits**  
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**Making a total of: 981 hits. Pitiful. lol.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Holy!__ Big Update! May require multiple sittings!_

_(Previously) Quick Summary: When Renji throws a wrench into the gruesome murders happening in the Suburbs, everyone is on edge. But what frightens the trio even more is the call that Rukia received through her "black phone". Labeling the call as a bad omen, the three now await Byakuya's impending arrival. _

**HOUSEHOLD GODS **

**14. Hush-Hush **

When Renji walks into the flat, he rubs his hands together. He shuts the door and leaves a smear of blood on the handle. Scratching his head, he yells out for Ichigo. He says, "Did you perk any coffee?" And nobody answers. So he yells, "How about leftovers? Did you save any?"

But nobody is home.

He peels off his bloody shirt and sighs, heading straight into the bathroom. Before he opens the door, he hears the water running. Steam floats up from the floor. Renji says, "Ichigo?"

And someone says, "wrong."

Someone says, "Byakuya."

And a hand comes around Renji's waist. The fingers curl into his skin and the voice at his ear whispers, "troublemaker."

Renji grabs the arm and throwing it away from himself, he yells, "get away."

Byakuya says, "You know better, really Renji." He takes a step closer, and Renji backs into a wall. "Don't even start with me." Byakuya, standing too close, he says, "I had a good thing going in the suburbs. I called it _divine intervention_." His lips, moving against Renji's skin, are saying, "Why'd you have to go and mess that up for?"

Cold fingers, like knives, skim over Renji's stomach. Those cold touches are only a palm resting on his hip. And although his heart is heaving, and his skin shaking, he knows that Byakuya is not a God. Byakuya is just a ghost.

_And the ghost is saying, "Everything you know is wrong. It's a lie." He said it every morning after Renji died. Within the week, Renji bites. He says to the ghost, 'ok, why?' _

_The world, says the ghost, is the combined imagination of humanity. What's real for you isn't real for me. Reality, he says, is perception. _

_Renji had said, "but I thought it was 'imagination'." _

_No, the world is imagination. Reality is how we perceive the world. _

"_And it's a lie?" _

_The ghost smiled, he said, there is only one universal truth._

"_Oh, and what's that?" _

_There are no gods. _

Here and now, Renji, with Byakuya pressing him into a wall, says, "There is no _divine intervention_. There is no divinity."

And here and now, Byakuya curling around Renji, says, "I _perceived_ divinity."

Renji shouts, "You _can't_ do that. You can't just justify yourself by saying you're right. For once," he says, "you're wrong."

Byakuya asks, "What are you, Renji?" Chills of fingers run up his stomach; it feels like scissors to Renji's skin.

And Renji answers, "_dead_."

"Yeah," his voice a soft whisper, he asks, "and what do you do now that you're dead, Renji?"

"Pop souls."

"And you're not a God, are you?"

"No."

"I've been in the _other_ worlds. You know what I see?" His hand crawls down Renji's thigh. "I see _people_."

_There is one universal truth_- this is what the ghost says. He says countries are just geography and politics. It's just a territory ruled by a nation. And nation is people. People, they rule people.

_There are no gods_.

The steam from the floor is sticking to all the glass and metal. It's even leaving drops of moisture on the tiles, like dew in the morning. Renji's bare feet almost slide across the tiles as Byakuya maneuvers him into the shower. The air, heavy and hot with steam, leaves his skin flushed and warm. Those metal hands, still cool, fondle his hair. The clotting blood from his hands washes away under the falling water, and he says, "I'd rather you came here to kill me."

And Byakuya says, "I can't kill what is already dead; and don't forget," water streams down his face like a hundred tears, "you _killed_ yourself." And his shiny lips pull into a tight curve.

Already on his knees, the water drumming against his scalp, Renji says, "Then being with you makes me wish I were_alive_."

Byakuya laughs. He says, "So is that disappointment or regret?"

"It's aspiration."

The drain of the tub has never drained well. It empties the falling water too slowly, so puddles are swarming around Byakuya's ankles and Renji's knees. Renji watches the quick droplets splatter against the water. This is what he tries to focus on. The splattering. Pretend you're walking in the rain. It's cool and muggy. It's New York City. Maybe you lost your umbrella, or even better yet, maybe you gave it to a homeless man. The fingers that are squeezing your jaw, just pretend it's rain.

Byakuya's thumb presses into Renji's cheek as a painful encouragement to open his mouth. And Renji keeps focusing on the splattering, on the rain. The pressing of something thick and round against your lips, just pretend that's rain too. Byakuya's phallus, sliding into Renji's mouth, it forces his jaw to open wider. It makes it hard to stay in New York City. Where in the rain, a beggar peers out from under a shiny umbrella at you. Yes, it's hard to stay in New York City when Byakuya's voice is saying, "come on."

Renji stares up at the showerhead, letting the drops of water hit and splatter against his eyeballs. He can taste Byakuya's dog sliding over his tongue. He can feel him pressing against his throat. And Renji has never felt more sick or more pathetic. He jerks his head away and twists away from Byakuya. It's futile. It's pointless, but he can't stomach it anymore.

Renji breathes hard against the puddles of water. His breath causes it to ripple away from his lips. Behind him, he still feels Byakuya standing. He feels him smiling. He hears him laughing and saying, "not in the mood for foreplay?"

…

By the time Ichigo returns to the flat, Renji's hair is dry and Byakuya is worlds away. The couch sinks further to the ground as Ichigo's weight is added next to Renji's. Lights from the television flicker in Renji's eyes and he says, "Sup?"

Ichigo grinds his teeth together, he asks, "How long have you been watching TV?"

"All fucking day."

"Did you make any coffee?"

"Nope."

"Supper?"

"Nope."

"Any leftovers from yesterday?"

"Nope."

Ichigo settles into the couch and drags his fingers down his face. He says, "fine." During a commercial, Ichigo starts muttering. "Fucking wanker…Good-for-nothing stuck-up bastard."

Renji bites his lip and smiles. "Good for something." And he tosses the remote on the floor.

"You can't cook; don't clean; don't have any money… actually you just suck up money…"

"Well yeah," Renji says, still staring at the screen, "I'm not you're fucking _wife_."

"No, but you fucking live here."

"Not like we're paying rent."

"And how long do you think that's going to hold out?" Ichigo's hand jabs the air. "Fucking neighbor's already onto us."

"Yeah, I know."

Ichigo sighs. He says, "It's because you_stole_ his laundry."

"I told you. I thought it was mine."

"For fuck's sake! Then you should have returned it once you realized it wasn't yours."

Renji points, "But _you're_ wearing _his_ shirt right now."

Ichigo smiles; he says, "yeah_. I thought it was_ fucking _mine_."

So Renji knocks him in the face.

In a second, Ichigo's back is bouncing against the floor. He shuts his jaw tight and rolls onto his side. Hissing, he says, "you fucking bastard," and gets onto his feet. Renji, he's wiggling his knuckles and folding them into fists.

He says, "Come on strawberry," and Ichigo goes for Renji's waist. He grabs onto the band of Renji's jeans, and shoulders him into the wall. On the impact, Renji groans and laces his hands into a tight fist. He brings it down onto Ichigo's back, and the boy hits the floor.

Renji climbs onto him, fixing Ichigo's arms above his head. He says, "You fight like a frigging pansy." And Ichigo rolls his eyes. Renji, sitting on top of Ichigo, digs his knees into the boy's ribs. "Kate Moss would do more damage."

"Ah, fuck! That hurts!" His cheek rests against the moldy carpet. His brown eyes stare hard into the dim ceiling lights, and he says, "You know what would be nice right now? A fucking blow job."

And Renji grins. He says, "oh yeah?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Hey, Ichigo," whispers Renji into the boy's ear. He feels the body tremor between his knees, and he says, "Were you always such a faggot?" And Ichigo's hands free themselves from his grip and clench around Renji's collar, driving him backward. Renji's head knocks against the floor as Ichigo rights himself. Straddling Renji, Ichigo starts undoing his pants.

He sneers and answers, "yeah, actually."

Rukia, she ends up coming home within the next ten minutes; so when she opens the door, she only gets as far as, "did you perk any," before she sees her two room mates half undressed and grappling one another. She says, "okay," and sucks on her teeth as they roll by her feet. She steps over them to get into the kitchen. She wants to say, "don't make a mess," and "I'm not going to be the one mopping after."

…

In the morning, after Ichigo's rushed off to work, Rukia wakes up to the sounds of Renji puking in the toilet. She peeks into the door and says, "Hey, you okay in there Renji?"

Renji looks up and frowns. He says, "I feel sick. I'm going to die."

"Oh," says Rukia. "Cool." She drums on her thighs. "You almost done? I gotta pee." Renji heaves another liter of what Rukia thinks looks like clam chowder. And then she sneers. She says, "That's disgusting. You're such a whore."

She says, "Lay off the pogo. I have to pee in that toilet and now there's upchucked sperm all over it."

Renji crumples up next to the toilet. Lying on the mossy tiles, he groans and says, "Sex hangover."

Rukia nods and says, "Okay. Well, I'm just going to pee in the bathtub."

…

On Ichigo's lunch break, he gets a text message from "beyond". It orders the death of one Lei Brakin, by 1 pm, to be delivered on 156 Franks Street. Due to a fax machine malfunction, Ichigo ends up being seventeen minutes late. By the time he gets there, cops are crawling around the house and taping up the fence with yellow tape. Halloween décor.

Ichigo lifts the tape and ducks under it. He makes a quick break into the house, but only makes it as far as the kitchen before a uniform stops him. The cop says, "What the fuck? Get out of here." This is a crime scene. Didn't you know?

Ichigo, giving a nervous smile, eyes the room quickly. He's looking for the dead body. Not in the kitchen. Check that off the clue card.

"Hey," says the cop. "You can't-"

Ichigo, the 'quick-thinker', he says, "What are you doing in my house? What happened?"

And the cop's face drops. He says, "You live here? Are you apart of the household? Family? Where'd you come from? I'm going to need to take down your name and-"

Oh, fuck. Um, "My family!" Ichigo makes a gesture over his head, "did something happen to my happy family?" And Ichigo starts running up the stairs. Sure, if he'd actually lived here, he'd be confused, right?

"Hey wait! You can't go up there!"

Ichigo starts poking his head in all the doors. Second door on the right was the bingo. Lying in bed, covered in white cotton sheets, is the form of a body. Small circles of red stain the white bedding into a polka dotted pattern, and all around the forever-asleep Lei Brakin, is about ten, very serious looking cops.

Ichigo hesitates for moment before raising his hands in the air and shouting, "oh! Oh no! Please, heaven's no!" And he stumbles near the bed.

The investigators scratch their heads and say, "who the hell is that?" as Ichigo falls next to the bed and starts padding the sheets with his palm.

Ichigo shouts, "My poor family." He peeks under the blankets and tries to poke at the body and about half of the cops start heading towards him.

…

The ghost of Lei Brakin says, "hey shinigami!" And Ichigo, baggy eyed, turns his head and looks at the apparition. Lei Brakin's mouth, like a drawn theatre curtain, widens slowly and collects wrinkles on either side. She says, "Want to know who shot me?"

And Ichigo says, "no." He leans against the gritty, coal coloured bars and sighs. He breaks. He says, "fine. Who was it?" And Lei Brakin lights up like a girl scout.

"My mother in law. She thought I was a moose- a moose in her bed! Pretty wild, huh?" She smiles, and you can't even distinguish lip from wrinkle. Ichigo, he just notices that Lei Brakin doesn't have any feet. She just sort of floats around like Casper. "I was just napping though. Loud snoring I guess." Is that a smile, or is her face splitting apart? Ichigo can't tell.

From across the cell, an inmate glares at him. On Ichigo's hands, there are still traces of Lei Brakin's blood. Only now it's smeared and mixed with his sweat. When he'd lifted up the white cotton sheets of the bed, and swatted around the mattress energetically in search of the body, he'd slapped her right in the chest wound. It was four rounds of bullets, shattering her ribcage and blowing her lungs all over the bed. It was like sticking your hand into a bowl oily casserole; but it was enough to separate her soul from, and also appear as a complete madman in the process.

Lei says, "I was getting kinda worried there for a moment, shinigami. I thought that I'd get buried with my body. You know, I could see and hear everything around me. It was like_X-Files_."

"Oh yeah?" says Ichigo, not particularly interested. There's an echo of footsteps coming from behind him. He'd called Renji an hour ago. _He'd said, "Bail please." _

_And Renji had answered, "Fucking Christ. Are you serious?" And after a pause and some deep breathing, "Fine, but I'm not buying lunch on Saturday. Just consider this as me treating you for lunch."_

Ichigo feels a tap on his head and twists around. Pressing his cheek against the cool bar, he smiles and says, "Renji. Finally."

The sun is already gone and set by the time Renji and Ichigo are walking through the station's parking lot. In the car, Renji says, "Do up your seat belt."

And Ichigo, settling into the passengers seat asks why.

"Just do it."

So he does, although he doesn't see the point.

"Do you have any idea what kind of strings I had to pull to get them to even consider you for bail? Do you even know what you were charged with?" He starts up the car. "You really could have fucked things up to unfuckable levels."

Yeah, but he still doesn't see the point of the seatbelt. I mean, it's not like he can die again, right?

"No you can't die again, but that's not the fucking point!"

So what is the fucking point?

Renji forgets to break at a stop sign, and he says, "Did you see that stop sign?"

Yeah.

"Why would they put a stop sign there? It's just stupid."

Ichigo leans into his seat. He says, "whatever."

**15. Catch! Up! **

If you ask Rukia about ghosts, she'll say they're all _drama_. All they want to yammer about is how they died; what they would have done, or should have done, and so on. They'll tell her, "if only I'd flipped off my boss," or "why didn't I tell my dog foo-foo I loved her?"

Rukia says, "it's all crap." She loathes the drama. This is why she says she lives with men. She says men aren't as dramatic.

She doesn't say this anymore. Watching Ichigo scream at Renji, who's watching the _Late Show_, she really _can't_ say it anymore. From the kitchen, she hears the whole conversation.

It's Ichigo yelling, "Fucking say something. I fucking," and he puts his palms onto the back of his head, "come out and say this shit to you and you're blank? What the fuck is that? Do you seriously not even care?" And at first, Rukia knows that Ichigo doesn't buy it. She knows that Ichigo hopes that Renji is just _acting_ nonchalant. He screams, "Say something!"

So Renji sighs and says, "you really aren't going to let this go, are you?" and he shuts off the TV. "Well, what more should I say other than it's true?"

From the kitchen, Rukia mouths, "sorry. Try sorry," and she continues to eat a piece of vanilla cake.

Ichigo's face is crumpling up, his eyes are getting shiny and his mouth twitches in and out of a tight frown as he says, "I fucking…" and he looks away quickly, then back at Renji, "…you stupid, fucking… asshole." His brow crunches together, "I fucking wish I never…" And he just leaves the room; leaves the flat; leaves Renji.

Rukia pops her head into the room and makes a face at Renji. She says, "So who's on Lettermen?"

…

Ichigo is walking quickly down the street, quick enough to give him a chill. He would call it 'storming.' He's got this pesky felling orbiting around him, and it makes it impossible not to think about Renji. He asks himself why he didn't see it sooner, or he did, but why didn't he act sooner? Why'd he let himself care so much?

He knows that he can't blame anyone without blaming himself. Storming down the street, to keep the hurt at bay, he remembers again what happened previously. He remembers the coolness of the air as he stepped outside for his lunch break. It was just a step out the office doors…

_"Ichigo," someone said. It was sudden, so Ichigo jumped a bit. He turned and met someone's cool, thin smile. _

The air seems much more nippy now

_Someone said, "I thought I'd catch you here. I'm sure you're working hard." Ichigo just frowned and someone kept on talking, "but I wonder what it is you're working so hard for." _

He keeps storming down the street. He asks himself, why'd I get so attached?

_Someone said, "I'm not fucking with your ego, but…" _

Was it becoming colder? The wind chill is insane. Ichigo pulls his arms over his chest. His body moving like an automaton, he hasn't a clue where he's headed. He just moves forward, moves away.

_"You shouldn't pretend you don't already know I'm fucking him," said someone. "I think you have this misconception about love. Really, I'm doing you a favor. Someone had to tell you the truth. And wouldn't you rather know it, boy?" _

Suddenly the streets start to become more and more familiar.

_"You're not going to wait it out are you? What chance do you think you have? We both know that that relationship was headed nowhere. Well what do you think? Is it coming together now?" _

Ichigo, he's a boy in a fantasy, standing outside this building. It's so familiar, yet surreal, close and yet far away. If he takes a step forward, it'll be like a million backward. He lifts his shoe from the concrete.

_"I thought this conversation would be as trying as it's becoming. Teenagers always look to others to solve their problems, even dead ones with dead problems. I wonder sometimes, is so difficult to accept grief? Well, I suppose if it is, you shouldn't have put your faith in anyone. Here's another tip for you, boy; people are all big walking disappointments in the eyes of an optimist." _

He presses his shoe back onto the concrete. There's no going back. No looking back. This is done. He takes the step toward the building. He walks slowly and stops at the door, and lifting his hand, he knocks his knuckles against it. There's a familiar rustle behind it and a small woman's voice. A man comes to the door. Ichigo says, "Hey, Is Ichigo home?"

And the man at door, his hairy, stone face just drops.

Welcomed in, Ichigo sits on this old sofa. This sofa, he used to watch TV on it when he was alive. His father sits to the right of him in that old chair. Back when he was alive, Ichigo would sit in that old chair too. His father says, "I'm not sure how to put this." He's shaved since the funeral. "I'm surprised you haven't heard already."

Ichigo leans his elbows onto his knees. He says, "I was out of town for almost a year."

His father asks, "How did you meet Ichigo?"

Ichigo says, "we were on the wrestling team," he pauses, "in grade nine."

"I didn't know he was on the wrestling team."

He wasn't. Ichigo, he thinks it's such a strange feeling to lie about yourself. Lying is so natural to him now. He lies, "Oh. Well, he was. Not very good at it though."

…

Rukia and Renji, they sat on that couch until morning, until the pale streaks of dawn started reaching through the grime of the window. Rukia groans, and her voice cracks as she asks, "did Ichigo come back yet?" And Renji shakes his head.

"Kid ain't coming back."

Rukia yawns. "What makes you say that?" And she watches Renji's throat as he swallows and grins.

"Because he's smart."

She gives his knee a squeeze. A comforting move, which she saw done in a movie once. She says, "but maybe he's not_that_ smart."

…

You can't go home. This what Ichigo realizes as he walks out of his father's house. The sun is going down and he has no place to sleep. He can't go home. He simply just doesn't belong there anymore. His father, his sisters, they don't recognize him anymore. Ichigo Kurosaki is dead. So who is he now? Where does he belong?

Where is home?

What changes? Is it home, or is it the person? Ichigo isn't sure. He shoves his hands into his pockets and feels the cool, metal rim of _the black phone_. He pulls it from his pocket and runs his thumb along the screen. The last glinting rays of the sunset wash down it in streams of white. He wonders why it is that Rukia or Renji have never used the phone to call anyone. It's a phone after all. It's meant to connect people and bring them closer together. So why does this phone only bring messages of death, of separation? Is it because it's a shinigami's phone?

Ichigo asks it, "Is it really that you have no number?" And the phone just keeps glinting in the leftover sunlight. Ichigo asks, are we supposed to be alone? Is this why? As a shinigami, am I meant to be completely alone? But then he remembers, and he wonders, how could Rukia's phone have rung? How did Byakuya dial out? He sits on the curb and rests his feet on the pavement. The road is as dark as this phone, and neither of them have answers. At the end of the road, is the home that is no longer home; and in his hand, is the phone that isn't really a phone. In his mind, and in his heart, is a life that isn't really a life.

And Ichigo asks himself, "where is home?"

And nothing answers.

…

"I mean," and her voice is loud and wobbly, "what is it _really_ that you like about him so much?" She shuts her eyes and swallows, pushing out her lips for a second. She sways back and forth as she staggers back toward the couch.

Renji says, "You're so light, but your ability to drink alcohol is astounding." He sits on the couch, and then steadies Rukia as she sits.

"I mean really, who needs him?" she asks. "Do you need him?"

Renji sighs and says, "no."

"Me neither!" Her voice gets quieter, "but you know, he _really, really_ liked you."

"It's my accent."

"Oh fuck! It's always your accent!" She leans into his ear and mumbles, "When're you gonna get it that Brazilian accents ain't _that_ sexy."

"Mine is that sexy."

"Hah! T'hell it is!"

"…I'm also really good in the sack."

Rukia laughs loudly, "So I've heard! And like, really, I've _heard_." Renji shrugs. What can a guy do? We all have our talents. "But really, Renji," she says, "you seemed attached to him. Almost… like you loved him back, you know?"

Renji tilts his head and watches that damn rattling fan on the nightstand. He says, "When everyone is expecting something from us, we can't help but try to perform something. If we can't help ourselves, then we ought to perform for someone that expects something we want to be." Renji pauses and sighs. "I liked who I was with Ichigo."

"Wow," Rukia giggles. "The model, and the boy with the camera. Why do you see everything in those terms?"

"It's just in my head."

Rukia grunts, "well Renji, not much I can tell ya, exceptthat," and she smiles, "if you're really _that_ good in the sack… he'll have to come back. By the way," her brows squeeze together, "did I mention that my brother is coming into town?" She's too drunk to notice Renji blanch. "Oh, yeah," she says. "Sometime this week. He says he figured it out, the equation or something or other. Says it's important."

"Bastard should stay in hell."

"Oh Renji! You should be nicer to him. He really likes you."

"I don't care."

There's a quick knock at the door, before the handle turns and Ichigo walks in. He's drenched and scowling. Both Rukia and Renji turn their heads and stare at him. "Not even a full twenty-four hours," she says and whistles. She guesses that Renji must really be _that_ good.

Ichigo shakes his head, sending cold droplets in all directions. He says, "I'm not going to run off, you idiot. I just needed to blow off some steam." He takes special care not to look at Renji and asks, "Did anyone perk any coffee?"

Renji sighs and faces back toward the television. "You gonna leave again once it's stopped raining?"

And Ichigo looks to the side and says, "Looks like nothing even moved since I left yesterday. Coffee hasn't budged, well, Rukia kinda did, but the big fatso hasn't."

Renji spits, "that better not be aimed at me, berries." Rukia simply exits to the next room.

Ichigo shouts, "damn fucking right it is." He can hear Renji laughing and it sends trembles through his body. "What?" he shouts louder.

"You're such a fucking kid. Running away, coming back to call me names- it's all ridiculous." Renji gets off the couch and heads toward Ichigo. Once he gets close enough, he slams his hand next to the boy's head and says, "Look at yourself. You've got absolutely no where to go do you?"

Ichigo bites his tongue. He's had time to think about his death, and his undead existence. He's thought about Renji and himself. He's thought about everything he'd love to do and say to settle the score between them; but after all this thinking, he realized, "I don't want anything to do with you anymore, Renji."

The fan rattles in the corner. It hums and shakes and clicks. The floor, it still has mold spores growing between the buds of the carpet fibers, and moss is creeping over the tiles. The walls are still soggy because the plumbing is still leaking, and the air is still hot and sour. No, Ichigo thinks, he wants nothing to do with this anymore. He looks up at Renji's face. He sees those crimson eyes looking away and watches how his tongue slides along his teeth inside his mouth.

Renji blinks and nods, and then drops his arm. Ichigo steps aside and leaves the room. Now all Renji can hear is that damned fan. And he doesn't know why but he walks over and unplugs it. Instantly, he feels the air get heavier. He tries to take a deep breath, but it's like trying to suck up peanut butter through a straw. Under the night table, there's a fashion magazine. No doubt, its Rukia's, but it reminds him of the past. Who was it again? A woman who'd held his face in his hands and said, "Renji, how many more things do you have to lose before you begin to take care of them?" He'd never answered her. Who was it again, maybe a hairstylist?

To answer her now, he could say everything _and_ nothing. I'll lose everything, he thinks, but it's all absolutely nothing.

**16. Muck **

If you ask Byakuya about ghosts, he'd wave his hand and say, "who?" Amidst all the lists and numbers, he'd say, "you mean this?" Marking and scratching up the papers, he'd tell you, "don't worry about that, hand me that calculator." And he'd keep on punching in numbers. He does this in kitchen of the flat.

Rukia sits across from him and asks, "those taxes or something?" He shakes his head. "Are they," and her voice drags on, "bills?" No. "They look like really big numbers."

"It's impossible to be accurate right this second," Byakuya mumbles, "because the numbers keep changing. The births, the deaths, they keep climbing every millisecond. It's not like we can put that on pause. You see," he lifts the screen of the calculator, "in order to get the numbers right, they have to be manipulated."

"You mean, like the suburban serial baby-killers? That really hit the news big once Renji tipped the cops off," Rukia frowns. She wraps her hands around a cup of coffee.

"Even that wasn't big enough." Byakuya rests his elbows on the table. "We need something monumental. Something that'll make the birth and death rates identical."

"Why?"

"Because it'll halt the population growth."

"So?"

"Then the numbers will stop climbing."

"And?"

"I'll be able to solve the equation."

"So," Rukia's voice drags, "how are you gonna do that?"

"Well," Byakuya grins and keeps punching numbers into the calculator. "I'll need approval from Soul Society." He looks around the kitchen. "I didn't see Renji around today. Is he here?"

Rukia motions behind her, "went out the kitchen window."

When you're trying to get away from something, you never feel far enough. You never feel safe enough. Trotting on the side of the road, Renji constantly looks over his shoulder. Once he's put a few miles between himself and the flat, he leans against a building and breathes. Why does he bother to run? He knows he can't escape. He takes in a deep breath and starts to walk slowly. He won't get back to the flat until morning.

Once it's dark, once the walls of the apartment building are filled with shadows, Renji returns. He looks up the fire escape and hears it creaking under his weight as he climbs it. He mumbles, "fucking fourth floor," and regrets not taking the chance of entering through the front doors. But he knows he can't. Byakuya might be watching. He has before, that is, grabbed Renji in the apartment lobby. After that, Renji always used the fire escape. Front doors are too obvious, too risky.

He swings a leg through the kitchen window, and his foot lands into a sink filled with soppy water. Must be yesterday's dishes. He'd used that water to mop this morning. He was making an effort to clean up a bit. And this morning, as he'd been slapping the floor with some stolen janitorial equipment, he'd heard Byakuya come through the front door. Now, Renji is back at the window hours later, crawling through the dark flat with one foot soaked in cold, scummy water.

As he patters through the kitchen, he steps on a fork and yowls. This is when the lights flicker on and he sees Rukia leaning in the doorway. She sucks her teeth and says, "Yo, Renji." And he nods as he yanks the fork out from the bottom of his foot. Next time, he thinks, he'll make sure to wear more than just socks. The problem was, when you're jumping through windows in split seconds, you don't really stop and think, '_maybe I should put on my shoes first_.'

Rukia points at the fork in Renji's hand. "Make sure you wash that," she says, yawning, "because I don't want to be eating my pancakes with your _foot fork_ tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah," he groans, tossing the slick fork into the aging sink water. "I'm hoping that the beast is gone," his eyes wander past her, "and I'm guessing Berries is sleeping in the bedroom?"

"Don't call my beast a brother," Rukia stops for a moment and then says, "don't call my brother a beast."

"And don't call me Berries," Ichigo says, walking up behind her.

Renji's lips pucker to the side and he says, "sorry."

So Ichigo looks at the ceiling and says, "for what?"

"You know," Renji says and motions toward the sink, "for stepping on the fork."

Ichigo scoffs, "really? I'm not." Renji shrugs and Ichigo wanders into the main room.

"Does no one sleep anymore?" Renji asks.

Rukia says, "I don't know."

He takes a seat at the kitchen table and presses his cheek onto the wooden surface. "I'm tired of this," he says, "I think." He feels Rukia's hand slide through his hair.

"Talk to me," she says and sits next to him.

Ichigo is in the next room. He has the television volume on low so he can hear their conversation from the kitchen. He focuses on Renji's voice. The way he's speaking to Rukia now, it's like a hoarse whisper. It's like how he used to talk to Ichigo in bed. He remembers how it would scratch against the man's throat as he spoke softly into Ichigo's ear. He would say things like, "this is where I always want to be" or "I will take you anywhere" and Ichigo would just listen as Renji did wonderful things to his body. At the moment, Ichigo drops his head and closes his eyes because his body is tingling. He can feel the ghost kisses and movement of Renji's body against him, although he's quite sure he's alone. Images are reeling through his mind, so he covers his eyes with his palms as if it could stop it. It doesn't help that he can hear Renji's voice from the kitchen.

He's still the only person more obsessed with Renji than Renji, and he can't help it.

Renji says, "You know what I haven't done in a long while?"

"What's that?" Rukia says, she purrs.

"Jumped off something."

"Yes, that's true. You used to do that a lot."

"I just don't like jumping off buildings. And Japan is just full of buildings."

"When we were working in BC, you would _jump_almost every weekend."

"I liked the cliff sides there."

"My brother would always come looking for you, you remember right? Back when my brother was a reaper like us? And he would go searching the cliff sides for you." Renji nods and she continues, "He would tell me about it sometimes. How he would look over the boulders or wade through the water looking. One time he said he'd found just your arm floating in the lake. He had such a hard time trying to retrieve it. And when he'd return with you, he would always whine about your work ethic. How you were always late for your reaps, and how selfish you were." She starts to laugh. "And do you remember that one morning? He was brushing his teeth and you were in the bath; and he was lecturing you about it. So you drowned yourself in the bathwater?"

Renji laughs. "I remember. Shoulda seen the bastard's face. He was so offended."

"I don't think he ever forgave you for that." There's a shrill noise ringing from Renji's pocket. It sounds into the air in short, but loud spurts. He frowns and stands to reach his hand into his jeans. Why is the black phone ringing? It never rings. Actually, it's been doing that a lot lately. Rukia looks at him and says, "these are bad omens. It's never good to get calls from the underworld." She starts shaking her head, "nobody wants to chat with the dead." She spreads her elbows on the table and covers her ears.

So Renji walks into the main room. He presses the phone against his ear. He's speaking. Leaning against the wall, the window open and the room chilled like an icebox, he mumbles into the phone, "yeah?" And a static response crackles into the air.

Tiny puffs of wind lift his red, red hair and tangle it, then he stares at Ichigo. Ichigo, who is just sitting on the couch biting his nails; he's thinking it's the end of the world.

Renji talks quietly into the phone, the dark, slim phone and says, "That's, um, unethical. Don't you think?" And some more paper crumpling noises come through the phone. Renji snaps the phone shut and asks Ichigo, "What's it supposed to mean?" And Ichigo shakes his head, so Renji clarifies, "the _greater_ good?"

Ichigo frowns. "It means that the end justifies the means."

"But the end is it. It's really the end." Renji tosses the phone onto the bed. "Nothing comes after the end."

Rukia stands at the doorway, trembling. Her voice is small and nervous as she asks, "who was it?"

He answers, "Byakuya."

"And what did my brother say?"

Renji runs a hand through his hair and sighs, "He says that at noon tomorrow, we're responsible for wiping out this part of Japan."

Ichigo spits, "what? We're what? No, I don't think so."

Renji nods, "Soul Society is," he pauses, "well, _he_ called it _purging_."

Ichigo stands, and brings his arm quickly into the air, "We cannot kill all these people! What? Is there going to be a bomb or something."

Rukia shakes her head. "He said," she looks to Renji, "something about _numbers_ right?"

"Right." Renji sighs, "Damn, it's gonna be a long day tomorrow. Think of the chaos! Honestly, why does he have to dump all this work on us?" He drops his head. "I just know they're going to run. We're going to have to chase them down. You just watch! Well, fuck if I'm going to do that!"

Ichigo's face lifts. He thinks, Renji better play the hero. He better stand up for human life and denounce Byakuya because, damn, Ichigo doesn't have the balls to do it. Renji opens his mouth again, "Fuck chasing," he says waving his arms, "I'm calling dibs on that red Porsche! You know, the one that's always parked in the new mother's lot."

Figures. Renji didn't have an altruistic bone in his body. Fine. Just fucking fine. Ichigo will have to stand up for human rights. Fine. He says, screams, "we can't just run over half of Japan, you stupid, insane fuck!" Renji and Rukia look at him blankly. So he keeps shouting, "They're people! You can't just kill people! What's wrong with you?"

Rukia scratches her head and offers, "well, I wouldn't really call _this_ death, would you? And it's not like they'll never, ever be alive aga-"

"Don't rationalize it!"

"_You_ need to be_rational_."

"You're insane!"

"I'm _rational_."

"Renji say something!"

"The red Porsche," Renji says, "it's mine."

…

Renji groans and rolls over, further tangling himself in bed sheets. He makes the mistake of opening his eyes and having the rushing flames of sunlight smack into them. He shuts his eyes quickly, growling and pressing his palms into his face. He screams, "Whoever opened the blinds, fuck- fuck you!"

His reply is, "get up earlier." When Renji pads into the kitchen with only a sheet wrapped around his waist, Ichigo says, "how appropriate." And Renji yawns. Ichigo raises a cup to his lips, "you slept in," lifting his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression, he says "on this very _remarkable_ day."

Renji talks while he yawns, "you didn't go?"

"Could you repeat that? I don't understand freak." So Renji says it again, this time not yawning. Ichigo says, "Oh, you mean that you expected I'd be out gallivanting and murdering people in the streets instead of having lunch?"

"Kinda," Renji yawns and then repeats himself more clearly, kinda.

"Renji," Ichigo's voice settles and his mouth weighs into a tight frown. "I don't understand what's happening here." He looks into his cup and watches the rippling reflections; then he shrugs irately and shakes his head. His sighs out like a horse, licks his teeth and says, "there's no explanation for it."

Renji looks away and says, "I should have told you about Byakuya." He swallows and laughs, "but fuck Ichigo, it's not like it was hard to see."

"I'm not talking about _that_. Fuck _that_. I'm talking about the friggin' crusade that's going on outside the window." Ichigo pushes the cup away. "If you look on the news, it's happening everywhere. People just falling down on the streets, in markets, anywhere where we can get them. All we do is touch them and poof. Dead."

Renji doesn't want to talk about _this_. He wants to talk about _that_._This_, he knows about. He's being hearing about _this_ since he died. He dismisses it as, "a numbers game."

"What?"

"What's going on out there is a numbers game."

"How can you call it a _game_? People are dying!"

"_They_ call it a game- they. You know, _the__gods?_ They've been planning something like this ever since the invention of the calculator. It's not all that surprising."

"Who? Soul Society? Why?"

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't be _since_ the calculator, probably before it to. They've been _mathing around_ since forever."

"Renji," Ichigo says, rubbing his forehead, "can you _try _to make sense?" Renji, standing there wrapped in bed sheets, Ichigo just can't be angry with him. He's got such a puzzled and guilty expression on his face. It creates tiny lines between his brows and a twist in those generous lips. Nope, Ichigo isn't feeling very angry with him. He sighs and says, "never mind. I know what _is_ happening, I'll just never see _why_ it has to."

"How was I supposed to tell you about Byakuya?" Renji says abruptly.

"What?"

"How?" he asks a little angrier. He watches Ichigo's features stretch into narrowed eyes and a frowning mouth. His faint, blonde eyebrows pull up with uncertainty and distrust. And Renji demands again, "How? How couldn't you see it?" Renji's eyes squeeze shut and create long wrinkles around his nose. Why didn't Ichigo see through it, through Byakuya or through him? Why did Ichigo _always_ need to be told everything? When Renji opens his eyes, he looks straight at Ichigo. "What's going on out there," Renji motions to the window, "is life and death trying to reach an equilibrium, to solve some sort of divine equation and restore some biblical paradise. Yeah, gods buy into crap like the bible." Renji's voice is shaking and harsh. "And what's going on here, as in _right here_ is two, big, fucking egos fighting each other into the ground."

Ichigo says, "that's retarded." He stands up from the table, his chair screeching behind him. "First of all," he says coolly, "you can't kill your way to paradise. And second," he turns toward Renji, "it's not _my_big fucking egothat-" Ichigo pauses and then shakes his head, saying, "The entire world is dying," he drags his hand over his face. He's quiet for a moment, "we all just think we're gods, don't we? We wake up in the morning and think we're capable of doing anything. We look in the mirror and think we deserve better. Everywhere, everything, we just try to own it all." He let's out a heavy breath and begins to speak louder and quicker, "If you look anywhere, it's jam packed with stuff that we've made up. Buildings and televisions- it's like we think we have a right to create or something. And it's _all_ for us, right?"

Renji offers a small grin and says, "Not gods, Ichigo. Heaven is what makes a god. You said the world was dying? So it'll take us with it."

"Heaven huh?"

"Yeah," Renji says. "And it ain't no city."

…

Renji sits on the couch, wrapped in bed sheets from the waist down; and Ichigo sits at the kitchen table. His hands are laced in front of his mouth as he watches Renji in the main room- Renji who is not watching television or talking. He's just breathing. He just looks out the window and into the sky. Ichigo wonders if he's waiting, wonders if Renji's in deep thought. He wonders if maybe it's not too late for Renji to change his mind. Maybe Renji will help him. Maybe the two of them can stop death. Together. Somehow.

But Renji starts humming _She'll be Coming Around the Mountain_, and Ichigo blows out a heavy sigh. It's too much to hope. Renji will never be the man Ichigo wanted him to be. The way Ichigo wanted it, it'll just never be. And Renji keeps humming because he doesn't remember the words. After the chorus, Renji mumbles in tune, "she'll be driving six red porches when she comes." He hums a bit and then picks it up at, "And we'll go out to meet her, and we'll all go out to meet her when she comes." The way Renji sings it, low and soft, Ichigo thinks it's almost comforting. And then Renji turns to him and says, "that song is really about death you know."

Outside, through the windows, you can hear the sounds of screeching cars and screaming people. You can hear the panic from the next apartment. Through the walls, the TVs and radios are blasting and spreading panic. The neighbors are shouting or whimpering or praying. They're asking for a God. "Oh God, please help. Save us," they say. They plead and it makes Ichigo sick.

Renji watches him mumble; he watches Ichigo say, "there are no gods."

And mumbling, unheard under the waves of grief and panic, are the words needed to squelch the panic. If you'd only listen! Would you only calm! You would stand at the mountain and meet her. Death. Over the quiet, over the reason are the layers and layers of terror and confusion. And we would rather indulge in that. We would rather leave the quiet behind. We would rather leave it as a whisper.

Renji blinks for a second and says, "She took the Porsche."

**17. Dust Bites **

Three weeks ago, Ichigo was kissing Renji. He'd grabbed the back of the man's neck and tried to push the man's larger body under his own. It was a great deal harder than he'd expected. Renji had wriggled away and swatted at the boy's hungry and grabbing hands. Their lips hovered over each other's, panting into the other's mouth as they continued to wrangle.

Recently, Renji just can't stand to strip. He can't lose himself in any sensation passed between the two of them anymore, almost as if his mind is stuck on something else. What was it that Ichigo had always seen in Renji's eyes? What was always gleaming and shining? It would sparkle every time Ichigo would reach a hand out to touch the other man. It would shine as he attempted to take control, as he pressed his palms against the other's skin. What was it that shone in those red, red eyes?

Renji grabs onto Ichigo's wrist and drags the boy's hand back onto the bed sheets. When the hand gravitates back and inches toward his thigh, Renji places it back onto the mattress. He just hopes it'll stay there, planted. He reaches for the nightstand and knocks the lamp off the surface. It tumbles onto the ground and the dim lighting becomes extinguished. Now Renji can breath easier. Now he can relax just a little bit more knowing his glaring flaws are just a little bit more hidden. Let Ichigo's eyes stay closed for the majority, he hopes. Let his hands stay planted so he won't have to touch or see my body.

He kisses him; and what shines in his eyes is fear- bright and ordinary.

**18. Frosting **

When Renji exhales, his breath rises in a smoky tornado. It fades into the ceiling and disappears into the water stains. This apartment will crumble, he thinks, before he is evicted. He tightens his arms around himself, grabbing and pulling the sleeves of his jacket snugger to his body. The building is quiet, except for the creaking of footsteps in the corridors. There's nothing interesting on the television; only news broadcasts and re-runs. The fact is that no one is concerned with filming entertainment anymore. All those channels have become nothing but static. White noise. Even the sky has become white and fuzzy with tiny, miniscule snowflakes.

Renji breathes out again, filling the room with smoke. He rubs his hands together quickly and then places them back under his arms. How long has it been since the world first experienced what people are calling 'death's crusade'? Renji can't remember. He doesn't bother to take note of history in the making. What he does know is that the seasons have progressed. It was in the late summer that Ichigo had sat at his kitchen table. (Renji had begun referring to the flat as _his_ since the start of autumn.) And it was now in the thick in winter and Renji hadn't seen the boy since.

Renji waited for him to come back. He waited; seasons passed and Ichigo still hasn't come back. Another breath of twisting smoke disperses into the ceiling and Renji is still waiting. He hugs himself tighter and prays that the heater will kick in. He hears the lock of the front door click and Rukia's clicking heels entering the room. She puts a bag of something on the floor and glances at Renji.

"All huddled in the corner?" she says.

"Yeah," Renji answers. "How's the Porsche? It need gas?"

Rukia nods and says, "it does, but don't worry. On the way here I stole someone's wallet. So we'll have enough gas money to get us through the week." She breathes out a tiny puff of fog. "Too bad we didn't have enough money to fix the heat. I'm really craving a hot bath, a super hot one." She slips her shoes off her feet and steps into a pair of fuzzy, purple boots. Her steamy breath floats around her face as she asks, "do you think it'll always be like this?"

Renji shrugs and says, "Nah. The snow melts. Always does."

…

In the springtime, Renji watched Rukia disappear. He watched her body fade away into a thousand tiny splitters. Like salt and pepper grains, like static; She broke into tiny pieces and floated away. She blew away like dust. Renji had shouted her name over and over. The tenets above him had pounded through the floors and demanded his silent composure, but Renji keep yelling. He kept searching the rooms in the flat.

In the next few days, in the same clothing he'd worn all week, Renji stood in the main room and asked what was for dinner. He'd honestly forgot. He forgot for a moment that he was alone. Rukia had passed on. Ichigo hadn't come back. Every trace of snow had melted. He stood there for almost an hour, ruminating over his mistake. He even debated whether or not he should scan the flat again. Maybe one of them might be there, hiding; but instead he just sighed and took a seat on the couch.

He thinks about the last time Byakuya visited. It was only a few weeks ago. The ghost had surprised him in the early evening by letting himself through the front door. The first words he'd said were about how he just may miss having to track Renji down. Now, it was so easy to find him. He was always in this dump. And Renji couldn't help himself. He'd asked if Byakuya had known where Rukia or Ichigo have gone.

And Byakuya said, "They go where all ready spirits go. They go _nowhere_." It's a paradox; they're everywhere and nowhere; they're on earth but no longer on earth; they're apart of the world and not apart of the world; they're everything and nothing. "Where?" Byakuya said, "maybe we'll both find out one day."

And Renji wonders if Ichigo had broken and blown away as dust too. Did he become those small pepper and salt grains that Rukia had become? Were they both really gone? Were they actually at a place where Renji could never reach them again? A voice in Renji's head says, "How many more things do you have to lose before you begin to take care of them?" And Renji swats the air; he shoos away the voice. He leans into the couch and lets his eyes drop closed. He doesn't need a lecture right now.

…

Every Thursday morning Renji walks down the street to the small grocery store on the corner. He pays for his groceries while he eyes the headlines on the magazine shelf. Somehow, he's always a bit short of cash, so sometimes he'll have to knock over a few parking meters on the way. None of the cashiers mind waiting for him to count through the change. They just admire his hair or his eyes or his skin or his face or his body or his tattoos. Sometimes they make conversation or offer to help count. One time a young cashier with pink braces and freckles asked him if he was a model. He told the girl that he used to be.

On the way back to the flat, he notices policemen scattered around the front doors. They're talking to his neighbors. Renji wonders if he should risk it. Police have been arresting anyone these days- anyone who could potentially be a shinigami. It didn't take much to evidence to convict someone; and it didn't take much authority to execute someone these days. Renji had watched it on the news. He heard it over the radios. They've been putting people on trial and executing them within the month. Everything is much more dangerous these days.

Renji knows that a real shinigami cannot die. They couldn't be executed. So every execution was really a living person. He suspects that Soul Society probably has a hand in this. He wouldn't be surprised if Byakuya was the one pulling the strings. He'd be the only judge in the world punching numbers into a calculator before deciding whether or not to execute; like a new kind of witch trial.

But these days, Renji is pinning and blaming everything on Soul Society. Maybe the cashiers work for Soul Society too. As far as Renji is concerned, Soul Society has managed to bleed through into the living world almost completely. They had satellites now. In the hospitals, on the same piece of paper you write your baby's name, they doctors also write his death date. In Renji's mind, they might as well be handing out death certificates with the birth certificates. Soul Society, they've ruined everything.

He pivots on his heel and begins walking away from the infested flat. He'll spend the day somewhere else. Once it's dark and chilly, he plans to sleep in someone's unlocked car. He'll wait a few days before returning to the flat. Once he's a few miles away, Renji takes a seat at a bus stop. He shuffles through the grocery bags and looks for something quick to eat. He settles on a box of cereal.

Something sings from inside his jacket pocket. It sounds like a distant memory, something he can't fully remember. He slides a hand into his pocket and finds something thin and cool. It sings in his hand, that black phone. The last time it rung must have been almost a year ago- before Rukia and Ichigo blew away. He sets the box of cereal down and stares at the black phone. It keeps ringing. He licks his lips and pries the phone apart. It stops ringing and he presses it to his ear. He says, "hello?"

He says, "hello?"

And a voice says, "Hey Renji." And Renji is stone silent. He's not even sure he's breathing. The voice says, "You've been on Earth awhile. We're waiting for you." The voice over the phone laughs. "Hey, Renji, are you still there?"

Renji blinks and swallows a bit of air. He looks around and instead of asking questions, he just answers, "yeah."

"You're all by yourself, huh?" says the boy's voice over the phone. "Figures. Seeing as you can be such an asshole."

"Ichigo?" Renji says; his voice is steady and careful, "How did you get this number?"

"Idiot," Ichigo laughs. "A shinigami's phone has no numbers. All you've ever had to do is hit _reply_."

**FIN **

_This sat around collecting dust in my documents for quite awhile. _

_I'm not particularly happy with it, but_

_perhaps my next fanfic well be much better and make up for the shortcomings of this story. _

_Adios! It's been a blast! _

_Please comment! I'm eager for your feedback._


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